DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS
by GerrysJackie
Summary: EOW1872–1876 beyond – Erik leaves after the disaster of Don Juan – four years later, a forgotten promise brings him back to Paris and things will never be the same. France, England, India
1. Chapter 1

This is my new E/OW story. Thank you for all those who wrote me and asked me to post this story as quickly as possible. I will try to stick to my normal way of doing things. We shall see. Enjoy.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

An original adaptation of the continuing story of

"The Phantom of the Opera"

By GerrysJackie

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the "Phantom of the Opera"; they are the property of Gaston Leroux.

Cast of Main Characters:

Erik Lacroix (pronounced "La qua") – Gerard Butler

Lavanya (Anya) Keshav - Aishwarya Rai (_Bride and Prejudice, Mistress of Spices_)

Christine de Chagny – Emmy Rossum

Raoul de Chagny – Taylor Kitsch

Meg Giry – Jennifer Ellison

Annette Giry – Miranda Richardson

Romir Keshav – Anupam Kher (_Bride and Prejudice_)

Sharad Keshav – Ashmit Patel (_Fight Club: Members Only_)

Lord Douglas Garrison – David Spade _(Just Shoot Me, Joe Dirt) _looks only.

Tarrah Sheldon – Kirsten Dunst

Carlotta Guidicelli – Silva Colloca (I am not sure if she can sing or not, but she has the look, and I like Minnie Driver too much to make her a bad person)

Ubaldo Piangi – Victor McGuire

Pieter Mallery - Gaspard Ulliel

**Dark Side of the Glass **

By Lori Yates

Special thanks to Melissa (Magestar) for providing these lyrics –

I was having a hard time finding them.

**_Walking in shadows _**

**_Feel like I am drifting away _**

**_Never able to touch a heart _**

**_Too cold to live this way _**

**_On the dark side of the glass _**

**_Alone on the edge _**

**_On the dark side of the glass _**

**_I am the outsider _**

**_I am the outsider _**

**_Looking in. _**

**_You can not run from what you are _**

**_You can not hide all the pain _**

**_When you look through empty eyes _**

**_Night falls and the darkness remains _**

**_On the dark side of the glass _**

**_Alone on the edge _**

**_On the dark side of the glass _**

**_I am the outsider _**

**_I am the outsider _**

**_Looking in. _**

**_On the dark side of the glass _**

**_Alone on the edge _**

**_On the dark side of the glass _**

**_I am the outsider _**

**_I am the outsider _**

**_Looking in. _**

CHAPTER 1

April 1872

The smoky cloud that hovered over the opera house had begun to dissipate and there was a light rain falling, so the damage had been minimal – at least compared to what it could have been.

The caped figure of a man scowled at the looming cloud and felt the warm sting of betrayal and deceit nipping at his heart. A low, rumbling growl gathered in his throat and he roared at the top of his lungs.

"Even now, I feel the music pushing me onward; driving me…seducing me into obeying her call."

His head bowed and he blinked back moisture – not certain if it was rain or tears.

"Why?!" He shouted into the night sky, daring the Deity he had long since scorned to bless him with an answer. "I can not do this anymore – it is over!"

His caged and dangerous voice echoed back at him, leaving him even colder and lonelier than he had ever thought possible; but anger and his own self-preservation drove him on.

There was no cryptic answer to his bellowed prayer; no magical path that suddenly became known to him; just the beating of his shattered heart.

The magnificent stallion standing guard beside him neighed and nudged his shoulder, as if chastising a child throwing a tantrum.

The man turned toward the animal and gently rubbed the long, proud nose with a gloved hand; he spoke in soothing tones.

"I know D'Ombre (Shadow), I am a fool."

The horse bobbed his head up and down as though he agreed with his masters words.

Erik had no idea why he insisted on shouting at a God he had rejected and denied all of his life…why should He listen?

A pleasantly masculine, low chuckle pushed through the darkness and the man actually smiled into the face of the beast.

"You are a wise creature…I would do well to take lessons from you."

He mounted the horse and took one last fleeting look at the beauty of Paris…he loved this city; the cathedrals, the architecture, the art…everything – but it no longer tolerated him.

Many times, he had stood at the top of the opera house and watched humanity scuttle about in its streets – always observing but never quite being a part of it.

"She would have never loved me, D'Ombre…why could I not accept that?" His labored sigh made the horse neigh quietly as though to answer him, "…well, I am a fast learner…I will not make that mistake again."

Although that realization made his heart ache…he finally faced the reality of it; there was never going to be anyone to walk beside him; there was never going to be a soft touch or a loving smile – no one to share his music; his art; his life…no one.

A caustic smile played about his mouth, and he shook his head mockingly.

"It sure took me long enough to come to this conclusion, did it not?"

The question was asked to the wind, but D'Ombre couldn't resist jerking the reigns just a little – making his opinion known.

"Face it Erik…" he spoke to himself in a tone dripping with disdain; "…whatever life you make for yourself - from this point on – will be made alone."

They tread forward, beast and master, making their way through the dark, forgotten streets of the lesser presentable part of Paris – the part that no one wanted to admit existed.

Finally reaching the outer limits of the city, Erik realized how remarkably tired he was; his body felt drained and depleted – and he couldn't remember the last time he has actually eaten something.

His thoughts turned inward as they continued down the darkening road; leaving Paris and the life he had known, behind.

Thankfully, his load was light. He had managed to throw a couple of change of clothes in the bag and almost all of his fortune, save what he left for Annette; however, there was no food or water…that he would have to manage while he traveled.

His thoughts grew dark and angry, feeding the demon of loneliness that always lurked in the darkest recesses of his mind.

_I need no one…the quicker I come to realize that, the better. They do not want me, and I do not need them...music will sustain me through the years – my art – it is the way it has to be. _

He really had no idea where he was going; so, he just turned west and kept going. Once he had cleared the sights of Paris, Erik steered D'Ombre off the roads and through the forests. The trees would make them harder to track, should the authorities be looking for him.

After a couple of days of sleeping on the dank, cold ground; Erik was feeling the effects of exhaustion penetrating every cell of his body.

He knew he was only miles from the English Channel and decided that England was a good place to start over.

"I have heard that the food is as dreadful as the weather; but neither of those things has ever held much importance to me." he mumbled.

Once again, the rain began to fall and Erik looked upward – feeling the drops beat against the black domino mask he wore. He smirked disgustedly and rolled his eyes.

"Perfect."

His sarcastic tone carried with it the contemptuous grin that curved his lips…everything just seemed to be going right along with his mood – dark and gloomy.

"Tonight, I sleep in a bed and get a hot bath…" he leaned his nose down and smelled his own scent, "…a long overdue bath, it would seem."

He traveled for another hour, fighting exhaustion and fatigue, until he came to a small town on the edge of the water. He pulled the dripping hood of his soaked cape up as D'Ombre moved slowly through the tired, abandoned streets.

The Snake's Pit was the first Inn that Erik came upon – it looked rather squalid and low-class, just the sort of place to hide away. He had certainly slept in worse places.

He did not need anyone asking questions; all he needed was a place to rest his head and a hot bath – if that was possible.

Knowing that his expensively tailored cloak would draw unwanted attention, Erik removed it and replaced it with a far more simply designed and less fashionable cloak. He tethered D'Ombre, retrieved his satchel, and opened the rugged door.

♠♣♥♦

Squalid did not even begin to describe it. Erik was certain he had never been in such a place…at least not since the cage.

Rustic and ancient were two words that came to mind, but there was an inch of dust on each piece of furniture and Erik saw rats moving along the baseboards of the walls – not that he minded – he'd shared his home with them on many occasions, he found they did not eat much and they asked no questions.

He walked to the desk and was greeted by what was obviously a very large, well-endowed woman. She eyed him wearily and grunted as he approached the desk; he leaned on his arm to talk to her.

"I need a room and a hot bath."

She stood to her full, impressive height and pursed her overly red lips at him. Her eyes narrowed and she almost shook her finger at him.

The voice she spoke with was raspy and deep, as though she smoked too much.

"We do not service your kind here."

His foreboding laughter filled the thick air and what few people remained within hearing distance stepped back a few steps – fearing the man was a lunatic or worse, a criminal.

"Interesting…" he scorned with a disdainful smirk, "…just what exactly _is_ 'my kind'?"

The buxom madam backed away from his volatile tone and Erik could have sworn she looked about ready to faint.

"Vagabonds…and criminals." She spat with less certainty.

His humor was fading quickly and a dangerous rage was setting in; his patience with the human race was running thin. He flipped the hood off and allowed her a full view of his masked features.

The domino mask did little to hide the penetrating green of his eyes, or the sweep of dark hair that was perfectly tousled – the woman swept her eyes over him and could not help the appreciative glint that settled in them.

He lowered his voice to a precarious snarl and leveled his piercing eyes on her. The mask only added to his mysterious air, obviously promoting her assumption that he was of a less than reputable nature.

His voice was dangerously silky and left no room for debate or questions.

"I want a clean room and a hot bath – no questions asked….and…." he smiled, showing straight, white teeth within a wickedly sweet smile. "…some privacy."

Something in his eyes and the tone of his voice had her moving immediately to do his bidding. She did not hesitate, but turned and retrieved the key – providing him all he needed.

"It is quite a place you have here." He droned, sounding bored and disgusted, the menacing man he had been, just a few moments ago, had disappeared; replaced by a weary and intolerant traveler.

The woman handed him his key and smirked at his sarcastic tone; he was perusing the dilapidated room with keen eyes and he made her rather nervous.

"Yes, it is a real treat…" she clipped sarcastically; but, once again raked his tall, lean form with her eyes, "…Hound…" she shouted, beckoning some poor soul to come to her "…get the man a hot bath."

'Hound' turned out to be the nickname for a giant; literally – the man it was associated to was as huge and unmoving as the Great Wall of China; and yet, he took orders from a woman half his size – if he hadn't been in such a sour frame of mind, Erik would have found the situation quite amusing.

"It will take him a few minutes to get the bath ready…is there any other…" she ran her finger along the well-defined swell of her bosom; drawing Erik's eyes to her female attributes. She toyed with him until he lifted his uninterested eyes back up to her flushed features, "…services you will need this night?"

Erik caught the hint in her voice and the subtle change in her eyes; she was offering him the pleasure of her company in his bed. He finally found a reason to laugh - quite a reprieve from the heaviness of the past few days.

Five minutes ago she was ready to toss him out with no questions asked – now, she wanted to bed him.

"Perfect." He muttered caustically.

He noticed that she remained, awaiting his answer. Erik couldn't help but stifle the laugh that almost escaped his lips.

_She wouldn't be so eager if she knew what I really looked like. _

Erik knew that the mask created the illusion of beauty where none existed. Wearing the domino helped eliminate some of the problem – they could see neither side of his odd features – so they had no reason to compare notes.

"No…" he almost shouted "…that will be all."

♦♥♣♠

As promised, he was up and on his way by early morning. There had been no one about when he passed by the front desk – a small blessing in his eyes.

The room had been accommodating – at least for his most urgent needs. The bath had done a great deal to ease the ache in his bones and remove the grunge of the previous few days.

D'Ombre awaited his morning canter, eagerly bobbing his head up and down when his master approached. Erik rubbed his soft nose and spoke quietly, assuring the beast that they would be on their way in no time.

"Easy boy, do not be in too much of a rush."

Erik's soothing baritone quieted D'Ombre's nervous prancing and Erik drew himself onto the stallion's strong back.

The streets weren't much more populated than they had been in the wee hours after midnight. A few people were shuffling about, but Erik did not seem to attract anyone's undue attention.

He found a merchant ship headed across the Channel and managed to buy his way onto it. He did not know how well D'Ombre would handle traveling by ship, but he wasn't leaving the stallion behind.

Of course, the trip wasn't completely devoid of mishaps. It wasn't the horse that got sick, it was Erik. He had forgotten about the months he'd spent as a small child, stowed away in the belly of a large ship. He'd almost forgotten how sick he had been.

"Oh dear lord, I have not been sick in years."

He groaned, and hung his head over the side of ship; he was several shades of green.

"What was I thinking?" He wretched again and felt like sinking into the floor and dying.

The crew had managed to avoid the mysterious masked man, but Erik needed something to ward off the sickness before he fainted from lack of sustenance.

"Here…this should help knock you out…I will wake you when we dock."

The captain of the vessel had been alerted to Erik's less than favorable condition; and knew he had to help. The man had been slightly evasive about his destination, but there was sincere pain in the green of his eyes; he needed someone to befriend him – if only for a little while.

Erik took the flask of whiskey and found an empty corner below deck. He downed several long, burning swallows before he felt the effect taking over. He slept the remainder of the way across the Channel, with his faithful friend, D'Ombre, standing guard.


	2. Chapter 2

Hello there! Thank you for reading and reviewing my new story. I hope I will get more reviewers, but I know that many of my regular readers don't care for the Erik/original woman pairing; but every now and then, I like to read or write something different.

I am going to attempt to clear up a few things. For the sake of my story, the fire at the end of the movie was not as large and untamed as the one in the movie. Erik's past and his history with Madam Giry are not as they were in the movie; the details of this will slowly be revealed within the contents of my story.

AGES:

Erik 30 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 34 when he returns to Paris after the disaster.

Lavanya 24 years old when she and Erik meet

Christine 16 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 20 when Erik comes back into her life.

Raoul 19 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 23 when Erik returns.

Annette 36 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 40 when Erik returns.

Meg 17 when Don Juan Triumphant is performed; 21 when Erik returns.

Tarrah 15 when Erik rescues her and begins to train her

Sharad same age as Erik

Enjoy my lovelies!!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 2

After all of the chaos had finally settled and everyone was accounted for, Annette Giry made her way back to her small apartment nestled on the third floor of the opera house.

Meg followed her, careful to conceal the white half-mask she had confiscated in the Phantom's lair. There was more to her mother's knowledge of the Phantom than she had ever told Meg; and she wanted some answers.

Meg had known for some time that the Phantom was a man and not an apparition. She had heard his voice in the still of the night, echoing through the corridors of the opera house.

Many feared him, and seemed to have good reason; but Meg had never felt the terror within her that the others felt.

Just how close had he and her mother been?

As they entered their apartment, they were relieved to see that it remained virtually untouched by the fire, as were most of the outer-lying areas of the large building. The fire fighters and civilians had worked diligently and had managed to contain the fire; only a few of the main areas of the opera house had been burned badly.

"Desperate measures, Erik…even for you."

Annette mumbled angrily under her breath, not caring that her daughter overheard her. He had remained a mystery from her for too long. Now, everyone knew who he was and many were out to kill him.

It was obvious that he had escaped the opera house unnoticed, a bit of good news amidst the tragic events of the evening. If Annette was honest with herself, she worried incessantly about him – his dark demons often got the best of him and he had no one to help tame them.

"Christine and Raoul are safe; they came out a mile or so down the river – wet…but in good health." Meg assured herself as well as her mother. "Christine looked rather distraught and Raoul looked as though he had had a scuffle with the Phantom, but he seemed to be alright."

Annette pondered over what Meg was saying – questioning Erik's motive for releasing them after he had gone to so much trouble to abduct them.

Meg felt a slight betrayal within her. Why hadn't her mother trusted her with the details of the Phantom?

"I deserve to know, Maman." She calmly demanded, "Who is he?"

Annette headed toward the small, corner kitchen and put some water on to boil. She needed a strong cup of tea and discerned that Meg could use one too.

"He is someone who means a great deal to me, Meg…a man who has been an outsider all of his life and has little knowledge of love."

She turned toward Meg after putting the kettle on the stove, and than sat down at the tiny table to rest the weariness that had begun to settle in her bones.

"I will say no more, for he wants no one's pity and his story is his own."

"I saw how he looked at her…but then, he let them go…it makes no sense."

Annette just shook her head acceptingly and sighed loudly.

"I think he loved her very much." Meg whispered.

Deep down, Meg envied Christine. She had two men who loved her deeply – each willing to die for her and each willing to fight for her – both of them beautiful in their own way.

"Yes, I fear he loved her very much…and she only saw him as a great teacher and musician, or perhaps a father figure."

Annette had somehow missed the transition Erik had made in his feelings toward the young Daae girl. He had been such an attentive and patient teacher with the child as she had grown over the past few years. Erik had never done anything inappropriate toward her nor compromised her in any way.

However, his recent behavior would indicate that he had developed deep feelings for her, perhaps feelings of great love; and he did not know how to handle such a strong and powerful; highly volatile emotion.

"I think I will go to bed, Meg…I am so tired."

She started down the short hallway and then turned back toward Meg.

"Did Christine say where she was going?"

"I assume she was going to the de Chagny Estate…Raoul seemed determined to hide her away."

"That is highly inappropriate." Annette huffed, her voice and face showing her disapproval. "She knows better."

The last phrase was whispered as the older woman made her way toward her bedroom. She turned up the lamp as she entered, feeling the warmth of the room and the need to rest.

As she headed toward the washroom, she noticed a box sitting on her dresser, and there was a note attached.

The box was wooden and beautifully carved; she knew it was Erik's craftsmanship…the intricate design and the attention to detail – he was the most gifted man she had ever known.

She picked the box up in her hands and noticed how heavy it was; but first, she read the note.

_Annette, _

_I am finally gone, you may breathe a sigh of relief; you no longer have to put your life on hold for me and my idiotic whims. What an interesting night it turned out to be. I am a fool, I know this, and I can visualize your head nodding in agreement. I will continue to write to you for as long as you write me. Should there come a time when you cease to return letters to me, I will discontinue my correspondence, knowing that you have lost interest. _

_I have no idea where I shall end up; I just know that I am not cowardly enough to take my life – I know that would probably make many people happy, but I will not give them the satisfaction of my death. I will continue to fight my demons – slashing at them in hopes of finding some semblance of humanity within my pathetic existence. _

_I will entrust you with my whereabouts, once I have settled somewhere. What you do with this knowledge is entirely up to you._

_You were always good to me; for this, I am thankful. _

_Erik _

_P.S. Use the money however you see fit, it was the least I could do after destroying your home. _

A wave of relief washed over her upon seeing his sweeping and elegant handwriting; but his words cut her like a knife. He had left; leaving the life he had made for himself, a life he had tried to share with another – only to have it blow up in his face.

The gift he had left for her was very generous, but it did not make up for his absence. She felt it profoundly – and he hadn't even been gone a full day.

"Where have you gone, Erik…what will you do?" Annette spoke into the shadows, trying to settle her own nerves.

She had to rid her mind of him; that was what she had to do. He had been such a part of her life for the last ten years – a part she had come to cherish – and knowing that she may never see him again – never hear his beautiful music – was almost more than she could bear.

Finally crawling into her bed, Annette did not drift into sleep easily. Her mind was riddled with images of a half-dead man lying face down in the muck of the streets. His hair riddled with lice, and his body badly beaten; it appeared that he hadn't eaten in a very long time, and his skin was the color of death.

Ten years had passed since that day, ten years of growth and awareness; ten years of the most beautiful and inspiring music the opera house - and all of France – had ever heard. Ten years of hiding him away from the world because he thought he would never be accepted by it - enough was enough – Erik deserved more.

♥♣♠♦

The funeral for Piangi had been especially quiet and less emotional than many suspected. Carlotta was not the remorseful, abandoned lover that many had assumed she would be. Everyone attended the closed casket service and fewer watched as the casket was lowered into the cold ground.

Raoul and Christine had taken a few days off, after the fire, and recuperated. Raoul had taken her to the family estate, much against the advice of his elder brother and parents.

The managers had also taken a few days, examining the damage and talking about the financial strain of rebuilding. There wasn't much structural damage, and the interior could be revamped in a few months; but finding the money to do these things was an issue.

About two months after the fire, Richard Firmin and Gilles André found themselves in the living quarters of Annette Giry; Meg was out, so they discussed the opera house in full detail.

"Madam Giry, in your humble opinion, would the Viscount be willing to help finance the rebuilding of the opera house?"

Firmin was unsure about how to proceed, knowing that Madam Giry had a close relationship with the young Christine; who in turn, had just married the Viscount de Chagny.

Annette eyed the tall, dark haired man and revealed little through her hard stare. She was tired of the games these men played. They had considered their talents and knowledge superior to that of the Phantom's; and in the end, it had cost everyone – dearly.

André squirmed annoyingly as he stood beside the larger figure of his business partner. They were both at wits end and could see no other way out of the hole they were in than to have the Viscount continue to support them.

"Just whom do you propose to get to write the original musical scores – or choreograph the dance sequences - or design the sets?"

Annette was trying to keep from sounding angry, but it was growing quite difficult.

"Did it not ever seem strange to either of you that you never met the composer of the new musicals and operas, or never met the choreographer or set designer?"

Both men stood in a befuddled stupor, not finding the words that they were certain needed speaking.

"Madam…."

"Gentleman…I will do what I can, but you must find the proper personnel needed to make this work – we have suffered a tremendous loss."

They glared at each other, knowing that she spoke the truth. They had turned to Monsieur Reyer in hopes that he was the mysterious composer of the unknown music – but he had quickly dismissed this, telling them that the various scores simply appeared out of thin air…and they were brilliantly written and designed.

"Madam…he was a murderer."

Annette narrowed her steely gaze and made each man feel the size of a mouse. They fidgeted beneath her stare and could not hold eye contact.

"So it would seem."

Gilles suddenly got the courage to scoff at her doubtful tone.

"Surely you do not believe otherwise?"

Annette sighed and turned from them, growing weary of the verbal banter.

"It matters not…he is gone."

She walked over to the large window overlooking the streets below. Her silence made them even more nervous, but they refused to bow to her small but intimidating figure.

"I said that I would do what I could, but Raoul is away on his honeymoon…it will have to wait."

They left as silently as they had come, leaving her to wallow in her thoughts.

Christine and Raoul had married a couple of days ago, amid the discouraging disapproval of his parents and the outright belligerent anger of his elder brother.

She would get the chance to talk to Christine about Erik…but it, too, would have to wait. There had been so much chaos following the fire and there were many decisions that needed to be made.

She sat down at the small writing table and took out the letter she had received earlier that day. Her hands were shaking as the elegant, familiar handwriting beckoned her.

_May 27, 1872_

_London__England_

_Annette; _

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. _

_I am as well as can be expected for a living corpse. I have begun to build a new existence for myself – hopefully, one that will be devoid of the petty human emotions that have been the bane of my existence. _

_As I am sure you expected, music has called me back into her service. I answered with eager hands and a bleeding soul; and I may have found a place where my music will be heard and appreciated. _

_There are a few desperate souls determined to drag me, kicking and screaming, back into the life of the theater; this time I shall take on a legitimate role in the everyday running of the opera house. _

_After taking a good, long look at myself in the mirror – the first time in many years - I ask myself what I was thinking when I began wooing Christine – it is laughable when I look back on it. I am a monster, inside as well as outside, and forever shall be. _

_Enough of that, I am sure you have other things to do besides read my letter. For what it is worth, I write my music, operas, and plays, and those I am in business with, see to it that my work is heard and that I receive the proper compensation. _

_I suppose it would be safe to say that I have come to peaceful terms with myself. I finally realize that if my own company is what I shall live with all the days of my life, than I should begin to be true to myself and not live in the hope of having a family someday, it is an unrealistic and unobtainable dream. _

_Well, before I start to bore you – if it is not already too late for that – I shall close. Take care, Annette, and I hope that Meg is well. _

_Erik_

Annette rested her letter against the small picture frame that held his likeness; a rare time when she had actually gotten him to allow a picture. She wiped the quiet tears from her eyes and smiled. He was in England - London, to be exact…and he was as lonely as ever.

"Erik…come home." Annette ran her finger softly over his image, missing him profusely with each passing day. "Do not give up on your desire for love….I beg you."

She placed her fingers to her lips and then touched the picture, turned down the lamp, and left the room.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

02/27/07

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY DADDY!! HE'S 78 YEARS YOUNG TODAY!!

I see that many of you believe that Annette is secretly in love with Erik. There may have been some romantic notions in the past, but there are none right now. He is like a brother to her - or her dearest friend.

I see this story being quite long, should I be successful with putting my ideas on paper. Hopefully, with the help of my wonderfully talented Beta, Mlle.Fox, I will be able to accomplish this harrowing feat.

The Erik in this story is rather untamed. He can be tender and compassionate, should the mood strike him; or he can be dark and brooding - and he will switch between the two very effortlessly. It will get better over time, but he has never had a reason to be any different - except for a brief few months when he was trying to win the love of Christine.

He has no need of a wig, as all my Erik's, and if you wish to have a picture of how Erik looks in your head - picture Gerard Butler's portrayal of Dracula in "Dracula 2000" - now put the white mask over the right side of his face. (My eyes are popping out of my head and I am drowning in my own drool!!)

**DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS**

CHAPTER 3

_London__, England__, November 1873 _

Erik sat in the far section of the theater, watching the rehearsal with mixed feelings. They had had a particularly difficult year, having lost their main soprano to a short, but deadly, illness.

Much against his wishes, Erik had been appointed to find a replacement – and quickly. As luck would have it, he happened upon a young, Irish, orphan girl whose voice was pure and untamed. She was quite young, actually – perhaps too young for the harrowing task of diva; but Erik tutored her with a strict regiment and she took to the schedule like a fish to water.

Was she ready? That question remained unanswered. Tarrah Sheldon was a gold mine, that much he knew. She had the makings of a great soprano – but Erik had learned long ago not to push his vision of the future on another – they often did not share the same insight.

She seemed to manage the stage quite well, for one so young. Erik couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at how well she had adjusted to the demands of the theater. Strangely, she clung to him as a young child would a parent or older sibling; something Erik found dreadfully annoying, but at the same time…intriguing.

He had approached his new position from a new angle; in one revealing moment, during a staff, crew, and cast meeting, Erik had removed his mask and allowed himself to be exposed and on display. It had apparently been the right thing to do.

Every time they had someone new come in, he would do it again. Everyone was used to it and there were never any awkward moments. However, Erik still avoided everyone on a regular basis.

As he watched the performers practice and heard the music fill the auditorium, Erik's mind drifted back to the first time he saw the inside of the Italian Opera House.

FLASHBACK

March 1872, London

_The dark figure climbed the decorative stairs and opened the large front door. He removed his hat and cape, cast his eyes around the large foyer, and smiled knowingly at the familiar scent of paint and makeup. Until this moment, he hadn't realized how much he missed it. _

_The large room was well lit and the tremendous carvings that adorned the ceiling and walls were breathtaking; angels and other celestial beings looked down on him from the vaulted ceiling and Erik suddenly felt very exposed. _

_A man approached him, coming down the winding staircase with his hat in hand. _

_"I am here about a job." _

_Erik hadn't intended for his tone to be so abrupt, but he seldom dealt well with people. He attempted a smile, but wasn't sure if it came across as a smile or a grimace. _

_The rotund man stared at the masked man with a curious stare, but maintained his stern façade. He was French…interesting; and there was something disturbingly familiar about him. _

_"Are ya, now?" _

_Erik noticed the man's thick Irish brogue and couldn't help but smirk. He hadn't had many dealings with the Irish, but he knew enough about them to know they were a fiery race – in passion and temper. _

_Hammond__ looked the younger man up and down. He noted the tall, lean frame and the strong, arresting features – hidden slightly by a white half-mask. The most alluring feature about the man was his intense, green/gold eyes. They held a keen intelligence that _ _Hammond__ had not seen in a very long time. _

_"Ya would not be from across the Channel, now would ya?" _

_Erik hoped the panic he felt in his chest hadn't made its way to his face. Somehow, Erik got the distinct impression that this man knew who – or rather what – he had been. _

_"I am; is that going to be a problem?" _

_Hammond__ Lambert couldn't help but grin at the sharp tone he heard in the young man's voice. It was apparent by that tone that he expected rejection, ridicule, and resistance. _

_"Nay, what sort of work are ya seekin'?" _

_So far, Erik determined, this had gone better than he had expected. The man was still talking to him, that had to be a good sign. _

_"I compose and write – operas, musical plays, plays, music scores – I play the piano, organ, and violin fluently and will learn other instruments if need be; I am a set designer, costume designer, choreographer, singer…" Erik looked into the eyes of _ _Hammond__ Lambert and saw shrewd interest – and a dose of curiosity. _

_"My, my…is there anythin' ya cannot do?" _

_Erik couldn't determine if the man was being mocking or inquisitive…he chose to think the latter. _

_"I am sure there is." _

_Hammond lifted his chin and stared at the man through narrow, questioning eyes. _

_"Tell me, Monsieur…" _

_Erik knew he waited on a name; and he had one ready to give. After much thought, he had decided to use his mother's surname. _

_"Erik…Erik Lacroix." _

_Hammond__ smiled, "Tell me, Erik, do ya wear that mask only to conceal the scars, or your own insecurities as well?" _

_Erik's head dropped as did his heart…this man knew him. Fear crept into the fragments of his being, weakening his resolve, but not his determination. _

_"How do you know me?" _

_Hammond__ approached Erik, showing no sign of fear or contempt. _

_"Anyone who is someone has heard of the Opera Populaire and the events that happened a month or so ago. I have been to the Opera Populaire many times, the music was beyond any I have ever heard. I heard the talk and the rumors about the Phantom that lurked in the dark corners and the Ghost that haunted the rafters." _

_Hammond held his hand out for Erik to take, a greeting of acceptance. _

_"I am _ _Hammond__ Lambert, manager and financier of the Italian Opera House. I do not listen to gossip and hearsay, I do not care about rumors and whispered doubts, all I care about are facts." _

_Erik tentatively took the plump hand and managed a scrutinizing smile. _

_"You have a job here, Mr. Lacroix, should you choose to take it. Your past is of no consequence and I know the quality of work you produce – I have heard it first hand." _

_Erik dipped his head as a sign of his thanks. _

_"Thank you, Monsieur Lambert, I will do my best." _

_"I have no doubt that ya will; now…about that mask, the only way to start over, my boy, is to be honest and straightforward with the people ya will be workin' with." _

_Erik felt the familiar rush of dread enter his heart and the rage that often followed it. _

_Hammond__ noticed the immediate change and put his hands up in a defensive surrender. _

_"Erik, I am not suggestin' ya walk around without it, but I am suggestin' that ya allow the others ya will be workin' closely with, to see what they are naturally goin' to be curious about, and allow them to deal with it…in the mean time, prove yourself through your work." _

_Oddly, everything he said made sense, and Erik took his advice. _

END FLASHBACK

That had been over a year ago, and some were still adjusting. He wouldn't go so far as to say they thought of him as a friend or even a co-worker, but they at least tolerated him…that was more than he had gotten in a very long time – since India.

Women actually talked to him without fear in their eyes and voices, he did not allow them too close, but he enjoyed hearing their feminine voices and watching them from his reclusive perch amid the shadows; he would not make the same mistake twice, but that did not stop him from admiring beauty when he saw it. .

His work had become quite popular, and he even took curtain calls along with the actors. He felt more at ease among these people, although he did not feel like he was one of them.

"So, Erik, do ya think she'll be ready for openin' night?"

Hammond had silently come to set beside Erik, something that never ceased to astound him. How could such a large, overly round man, move so silently?

"I think she will be; we have been working long and hard to get her ready."

Hammond stared at the stage, watching the young girl move about with grace and agility that belied her years.

"She is a pretty young thing, isn't she?" Hammond announced.

"Quite." Was Erik's clipped reply.

Without saying another word, Erik knew where Hammond's thoughts were leading.

"I have no interest in her in that way, Hammond, I assure you."

Hammond placed his strong, plump hand on Erik's forearm, causing the younger man to look his direction.

"So what if ye did, ye are only human, Erik."

Erik cast his eyes toward the young woman, and only saw a child with tremendous talent. He could not afford to see her, or any other woman, as anything more than art.

A dark, humorless, quiet laugh filled the dimness.

"Human! I have never been part of the human race. I tread monstrously through their territory; giving only what I must to their existence…they care not for me or what I can give them."

"That's the Phantom talkin'…" Hammond responded curtly, "…I have no room in this theater for the Phantom! I hired Erik Lacroix, and it is his genius and his talents that have led this theater into its most successful season ever…" Hammond narrowed his pale blue eyes at Erik and managed to make the younger man drop his steely gaze, "…be careful or ya will lose yourself to him again."

Erik stared into the darkness that surrounded the walls of the theater. He battled his demons every day…and some days were worse than others. He knew it would be a long, hard journey to a place he could not even fathom…a place he would feel content.

Erik closed his eyes and mouthed a silent, "Forgive me".

Both men sat and listened to the young soprano maneuver the music like a seasoned professional. She finished the final song and took her bow, searching the seats for the man that had made her what she was.

She smiled into the blackness, and hoped he knew that her smile was for him. He wore his invisible, hard, steel armor around his heart – impenetrable and opaque; but she was determined to break through.

He had found her, wasting her talents in a small Irish pub in Dublin – entertaining drunks and scoundrels – many nights, she barely escaped with her virtue intact. It had been the only way for her to make money.

She had no desire to turn to prostitution; too many young girls took that road – and lost their souls in the process. Tarrah wanted something better – and the need of it had made her chest ache.

When he had blackened the door with his tall, elegant figure, Tarrah had known – immediately – that he would change her life. He sat down and listened to her, never taking his beautiful eyes from her.

After her performance was finished, she smiled at him. His masked features had softened at the gesture – but only for an instant; she soon found him to be a formidable, combined force of staunch perfectionism and cool reserve.

He was quite handsome, even with the mask and Tarrah found herself drawn to him – not certain if he was her salvation or her damnation.

He turned out to be the former, although he fought it with every exasperated scowl and every arch of his dark, sculpted brow. He pushed her away from him, distancing himself from any possible relationship.

His deep, lulling voice pulled her out of her thoughts.

"Well done, Tarrah…I do believe you are ready."

Erik had emerged out of the shadows and Tarrah graced him with a bright smile full of amusement and laughter.

"Thank ya…" she looked up into his stormy green eyes, hoping to see a smile soften his handsome features. "…I have been thinkin'…"

Erik raised his chin in thought and then arched that famous brow.

"That could be dangerous." He droned with a slight smirk.

Tarrah swatted him lightly on the arm. She had learned through steel determination that he had a well-hidden, astute sense of humor…one just had to know how to provoke it.

"Ya know the courts are goin' to be appointin' me a guardian and they have asked that I recommend a man or woman of me own choosin', I was hopin'…."

Tarrah formed the next word, but Erik interrupted.

"If you are about to suggest what I think you are about to suggest…do not."

Of course, she ignored his polite suggestion and continued.

"…that ya would be ma guardian."

He flared his head back and stared at her down the long, narrow, perfectly shaped slope of his nose. His eyes were two green orbs of annoyance glaring at her with disbelief.

"Tarrah…" he warned.

"Erik, stop fightin; this…ya owe it to me."

At those words, Erik laughed with vigor; a sound that no one had heard before. Tarrah thought it made him even more appealing.

"I _owe_ it to you?"

His tone was full of teasing sarcasm, and Tarrah threw him a side-ways grin and winked at him.

"Yes. Ya were the one who pulled me out of me safe environment…" his jaw dropped at that ludicrous statement, "…persuaded me to sign me life away to the Italian Opera House…." he raised his brow, closed his eyes, and shook his head at her, "…and subjected me to a rigorous, torturous trainin' schedule every day."

It seemed he was rendered speechless, not believing that he had allowed himself to be cornered – and worse yet, bested – by this tiny slip of a girl!

"I know nothing about being anyone's guardian, and even less about the female of the species…why would you want me?"

If Tarrah wasn't mistaken, she sensed a tremble of fear in his voice. He was terrified at the notion of letting her in.

"Because ya make me feel safe and I know I can trust ya to look out for me best interests."

He scoffed at her words; dismissing the simmering boil of hope that started churning in his soul; the hope that he might have someone with whom to spend his evenings, for whom to cook a meal, and with whom he could share his thoughts.

Hammond overheard what they were discussing and knew that Erik hid his attachment for the girl; he did not want to admit he felt responsible for her welfare. Now, it seemed, Tarrah wasn't going to let him forget his feelings.

"The courts will never appoint me to be your guardian…I have nothing to offer."

Later that week, he stood – astounded and shocked – as Tarrah was assigned to him as his ward. She was to be his sole responsibility. He was to house her, feed her, educate her, and find her a suitable husband – when the time came.

It was minutes after they walked out of the courthouse, that Erik felt the panic creeping into his bones, someone else depended on him for life lessons; him – who had no experience in real living!

All he wanted to do was crawl under a rock.

♦♠♥♣

The success of his operas and musical plays was making Erik a wealthy man. He had invested what money he had arrived with, in the Italian Opera House and had received it back, many times over again.

He was a well-known figure in and around London, and most of England. He did not linger at parties or social gatherings, but did allow Tarrah the coming out ball that was expected of a young woman her age; and he timed it to fall on her sixteenth birthday.

"Erik, this was a wonderful idea…and I think ya did a marvelous job of plannin' it."

The number of people that had come to the ball impressed both Hammond and his wife, Winifred. By the looks of things, it was a success; and Erik stood boxed in the corner like a caged panther.

"Well, Tarrah had to help me a great deal; I know nothing about what society expects or the needs of young people."

The large ballroom was part of the opera house and Erik had designed the decorations himself; but he had hired many men to actually do the work.

The finest chef catered the food, and Erik was pleased with the looks of things. Tarrah's favorite color, yellow, adorned the walls and yellow and white roses were brought in to add exquisite beauty to the decorations.

"Come dance with me."

Tarrah insisted on pulling him, practically kicking and screaming, from out of the corner. She stood defiantly in front of him with her hands on her hips and a look of anticipation on her face.

"I think not." Erik stated, firmly.

She pouted her lips and playfully rolled her eyes.

"I could pitch the equivalent of a female fit and embarrass ya immensely."

He dropped his chin, looked at her through his dark, sultry lashes, and cocked his head slightly to the right.

"You wouldn't dare."

She lifted one side of her mouth and started toward him.

"Are ya willing to take that chance?"

He looked toward the heavens, closed his eyes, and sighed loudly, feeling sorry for himself.

"I thought I had the manipulating thing down to an art form, but I think you have me beat."

She quickly stood on her toes and placed a kiss to his exposed cheek; he smelled like leather and spices – completely and utterly male.

His broad shouldered, graceful stance and elegant moves captured the attention of many female admirers as he whirled around the dance floor with Tarrah as his partner; of course, he saw none of that – all he saw were eyes staring at him and the uneasiness began to settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Have you enjoyed yourself?" He asked.

"Immensely…thank ya."

He inclined his head and gave her waist a slight squeeze of assurance.

"You are certainly welcome, child…I am glad you enjoyed it."

His beautiful voice never ceased to ease her tense muscles or warm her parched soul…he was an angel on earth – at least to her.

"Ya are never goin' to meet anyone standin' in a corner, pretendin' to be holdin' up the wall."

Erik scoffed pleasantly and gently pushed a stray strand of ash blond hair out of her eyes.

"I have no intention of meeting anyone, so I shall continue to play wallflower."

She gave him a slight shove and a disgruntled stare.

"Ya are quite attractive, and if ya would just accept that as the truth, ya wouldn't always be alone."

Erik felt a tug at his heart; she never ceased to make him feel special, even if he knew her words were spoken just to make him feel that way.

"You see me in a different light than anyone else – I am not attractive in any way – and besides, I am not alone…I have you."

He tweaked her nose again, and smiled broadly down at her. There was no room for discussion or debate, but Tarrah knew he suffered from bouts of utter loneliness; his eyes spoke of it and his music was the most haunting she had ever heard.

She wanted him to be blissfully happy, and a special woman would do that for him. Not any of these insipid, money-hungry crones that frequented the theater; Erik needed a woman with the same fire and passion he had – a woman with an independent streak that would challenge his own and make him see the wonderful man that he is.

However, he seemed determined to isolate himself from them – all of them.

"Someday, ya will not be able to hide – love will find ya."

Her whispered words made her smile; she would be patient enough to see the day when a woman would capture his heart, as he would hers.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

I made a few changes to this chapter since my beta read it, I posted it without her thorough eyes scanning it. I apologize, Mlle.Fox; I wanted to make a change in a character that will come into play later in the story...I beg your forgiveness, my friend.

Thank you to all who are reviewing, I sure do have a lot of hits compared to reviews. If you are reading and have something to contribute, please leave me a review or post a quick message to me. My MySpace site is also available in my profile, so you have no reason not to say something; I look forward to hearing from you.

Enjoy my lovelies!!

**DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS**

CHAPTER 4

_Paris__, France__; February 1874 _

"I am telling you, something is not right."

Meg was visibly upset. Annette sat beside her on the small settee in their living room. The sun beat down on their backs, shining through the open window with a gentle ferocity.

"What did you see, Meg, you are not making any sense?"

"It is not so much what I _saw_, as what I _heard_."

Annette raised her head and furrowed her brow.

"Alright, what did you hear?"

Meg abruptly stood and began a methodical pace, causing Annette to be even more concerned.

"I was in the market square, wanting to buy some fresh fruit and bread. I happened to look up and see Carlotta mulling about in a dark, shadowed corner. She was acting suspicious and kept looking around as though making sure there was no one watching.

"I grew a little curious, as I tend to be, and followed her. She went behind a gate and then followed a narrow dirt path to an alcove behind the old meat market. I stayed far enough behind that she couldn't see me, but close enough that I could see her.

"She waited a few seconds and then knocked on a door that was almost invisible, unless you know where it is. The door opened, but I did not see anyone. She went in and the door closed.

"I went up to the door, hoping to hear what was being said, but I couldn't hear anything. I circled around to the side of the building and found a window; thankfully, it wasn't bolted shut and I shimmied it open…just enough to hear a few words that were being said."

Meg looked at her mother's face, knowing that her story was capturing her attention.

"I heard a man's voice – a bit muffled at first, so I raised the window a little higher."

Her eyes grew large and her hands trembled.

"It was Piangi, Maman, I am certain of it."

Annette raised a brow and gave a scoffing sigh.

"Nonsense, Piangi has been dead for two years."

"Has he?" Meg questioned. "Remember, after the fire, no one could find his body…then Carlotta claimed she had had the mortician pick it up and it was being prepared for burial. Then, at the wake, she had the casket closed and no one actually saw him."

Annette thought back to that day and realized that Meg was right; it _had_ been rather strange at the time. Meg's theory made sense and she wasn't a girl to give into strange whims or rely on stupid hearsay. She was a levelheaded girl with beauty to match.

"You are certain it sounded like Piangi?"

Meg nodded her head and relaxed, knowing that her mother now believed her.

"Could you find that door again?"

Meg nodded again, this time more forcefully.

"Give me a couple of days to round up some help; then, take us there."

♠♣♦♥

Strangely, Raoul was most disturbed by the news.

"You know what this means, do you not?"

Annette was the one pacing this time. She was wound tight, and pacing helped ease her erratic nerves.

"Of course I know what it means, it means Erik is innocent." Annette spat, thinking that Raoul still wanted to believe the worst about Erik.

"Of murdering Piangi, yes; but what about Bouquet?"

Raoul had determined, long ago, that there was more to Erik than he had originally thought.

"You and I both know he could not have killed Bouquet...his death was crass and messy, not Erik's style at all..." Annette was eager to prove her point. "...and Erik would have never allowed himself to be seen as openly as that, especially if he had been intent on killing someone; he is too smart for that."

Raoul knew she was correct and could not dispute her reasoning. Although he had tried to dismiss Erik as a deformed maniac bent on revenge and bloodshed, this was not the image Raoul had in his mind.

A heartbroken man standing on a shore watching his only chance at love and happiness drift away with another man - this was the image Raoul was left with. He knew that Erik had sacrificed his own desire to allow Christine to go with him, and Raoul was not sure he would have done the same, had the roles been reversed.

"Maybe he finally lost whatever hold he had on his sanity and snapped." Came his feeble attempt at holding onto his original thoughts of Erik.

Annette smirked viciously and gave the Viscount a contemptuous stare.

"That's not true, and you know it." she spat, "I told everyone over three years ago that there was someone out there imitating Erik…playing him and devising some evil to get him accused of murder."

Raoul stood bold and erect, staring into the flames of the burning fireplace, as he relived his history with the man known as the Phantom of the Opera.

"He tried to kill me, or have you forgotten?" Raoul spoke softly, trying to convince himself.

Annette couldn't hold back the small chuckle that floated on the air.

"That is ridiculous, Raoul, if he had wanted you dead, you would have been dead…but he is not a murderer." Her insistent tone wrapped around his conscious and he knew that what she said was true. "He has killed in his time, Raoul, he has made that quite clear…but murder is a completely different thing."

That was true; as an aristocrat, he had been trained to kill with a sword, should the need to do so ever arise. However, he had never had to use that training – until he had confronted Erik in the graveyard.

Looking back on it, Raoul knew that he had initiated that fight by approaching with his sword drawn. Although Erik had ended up on the ground, he was the better swordsman, and Raoul was very much aware of that. If Erik had not tripped over the exposed root of a tree, it would have been Raoul on the ground.

"He was trained to kill, Raoul, and it sickened him…he had no intention of killing you, it was just a ploy to manipulate Christine…and he could not maintain it as he watched her slip away from him."

Raoul was certain of one thing, Erik had loved Christine with an intensity that scared him…and her – but he was certain she had loved him back. He went to the chair and sat down.

"You miss him."

It wasn't a question, but a statement full of wonder and disbelief.

"I love him…he is as a younger brother to me..._" although that is not how I have always felt toward him_. Annette felt the choking sting in her throat and fought to keep it at bay, hoping her thoughts did not betray her. "The opera misses him also…nothing is the same."

Raoul scoffed and threw his hands up, "You are correct in that…ticket sales have never been so low and I cannot keep pouring money into a sinking ship."

"There is no quality to the music or the productions, Raoul…Erik wrote all the operas that were not written by the likes of Mozart, Beethoven or any of the other well known composers."

Raoul cocked his head sideways in thought, he narrowed his eyes at her and they were filled with unspoken questions.

"What are you saying….the music was always signed by somebody with the initials M.E.L."

Annette shrugged her shoulders and smiled, "Of course, Monsieur Erik Lacroix."

"Lacroix…that is his family name?"

"Well, it is his mother's last name….that is all I know."

Raoul arose from his seat and came to stand beside Annette in the fading light of the afternoon.

"Back to the situation at hand, what would Piangi and Carlotta gain from faking his death?"

She looked away and narrowed her eyes, keen intelligence and strong determination floating in their gray depths.

"I do not know, but I intend to find out."

♣♥♠♦

Raoul gathered a few men that were loyal to his family and followed the map that Meg had fashioned for him. He hadn't told Christine about the latest development in the mystery surrounding the opera house; she would know soon enough.

They found him, sitting quietly in the dungeon he had been forced to stay in – he was especially surprised to see them, thinking his secret would remain just that – a secret.

"How did you find me?" He asked, not even bothering to look innocent.

"Your lover has been discreet, but not discreet enough…she was spotted lurking around and someone followed her…the rest is – as they say – history."

Raoul was pleased with finding the shifty man hidden away like an animal. For some reason, unknown to him, he wanted to believe, for Christine's sake, that there was hope for the man known as Erik – whose talent and genius was apparently very hard to duplicate.

"Tell me, Ubaldo, why did you go to so much trouble to fake your own death?"

The heavyset man hardly moved a muscle as they stared accusingly at him.

The Police Chief emerged through the door and waited patiently for some sort of answer.

"Yes, I am curious to know the answer to that one….speak up, Udaldo….I need to hear what you say."

It seemed the voice of the Chief finally penetrated Piangi's formidable shell.

"Where's Carlotta?"

Piangi suddenly felt as though he was drowning and he wanted her beside him.

"Do not be concerned with her; you need to think about yourself."

"Where is she?"

His tone was becoming demanding and panicked. His eyes suddenly began circling the room like a caged animal and he began to breathe frantically.

"You are in no position to make demands, Ubaldo, answer the questions."

When the man refused to say anything else, Chief Borinuex, laughed without humor and spoke to the young men that had come with him.

"Take him to the station…we will get answers there."

Raoul nodded his head in agreement and followed them as they hauled Piangi to his feet and escorted him out the door. The people that walked the marketplace watched as the belligerent man was physically lifted into the paddy wagon and taken away.

♣♥♠♦

A further search of the small apartment awarded them a confusing and old map of what appeared to be the bowels of the opera house and several scribbled notations that made no sense to the unknowing eye, but Raoul was certain that Carlotta or Udaldo could enlighten them.

There was also evidence of another person living among them. A younger man's clothing that wouldn't fit Piangi was found hanging in a small closet hidden in the far corner of a back bedroom.

Raoul grabbed a few samples and carried them with him to the police station; he needed answers and he couldn't stop the sick feeling that was settling in the pit of his stomach.

He stopped to gather Madam Giry on his way to the police station, knowing that she would want to know what was going on.

"We found him; he and Carlotta are both down at the police station."

Annette felt a sudden swell of excited energy course through her. What did this mean? This changed everything concerning that night two years ago; and nothing made sense anymore.

"I am coming with you…" Annette began, only to be interrupted.

"…and so am I." Meg came down the stairs in a flurry of blue.

Raoul smiled, happy to accompany the two attractive women to the police station to find some answers.

"What about Christine?"

Meg had been wanting to ask for some time, not sure if Raoul had said anything to his young wife.

"She does not know…I want to tell her, but I am unsure of her reaction."

Annette put a firm hand on his arm, drawing his attention to her.

"She needs to know Raoul; it is the right thing to do."

He smirked nervously and lifted uncertain eyes to hers.

"I know, but…." he was rather hesitant to voice his concerns, "…I know she misses him…she never talks about him, but I see it in her eyes."

"You see what in her eyes?"

Raoul creased his forehead and then looked at Meg, "The love she had for him."

His words were whispered and strained; he hadn't wanted to face that truth – at least not for a very long time.

"She did love him, Raoul - in her own way. However, she was too young to deal with the way he made her feel. He made her feel things she wasn't ready to feel yet, and she did not want to feel them for him - he was her teacher and mentor."

Raoul began to squirm a little in the seat. Madam Giry's words had managed to make him even more uncomfortable.

"What will happen if he comes back – and he is no longer the criminal everyone thought him to be…what guarantee do I have that she will not leave me for him?"

Annette quenched his jealousy with her loving and motherly touch.

"You have the certainty of her love for you…and the promise she made to you, Raoul…he loved her but she did not return it in the same fashion." She smiled warmly and continued to console him, "What makes you think Erik would even take her back? He has assured me in his letters that he realizes the folly of his ways."

She bowed her head and closed her eyes, remember his harsh words - directed toward himself.

"If he ever loves again, she will never know...he has sworn this to himself." She looked into the disbelieving features of the young viscount, "He does not want to see what he saw in Christine's face and eyes, in another woman."

Raoul sighed quietly at her words. They bothered him; and he did not know why. A part of him knew that he should be relieved - knowing that Erik had no designs on Christine; but to see someone purposefully living a life devoid of love disturbed Raoul - on a level he was not ready to deal with.

"You know where he is."

He didn't ask it as a question, but stated it as a fact. Raoul could sense it in her words and demeanor.

"Of course, I have known since a few months after he left."

He nodded, accepting this knowledge with calm ease.

"I hope you see him again."

"Me too, Raoul…me too."

♥♠♣♦

"So, let me get this straight, you and Madam Guidicelli found this map - several years ago - hidden below the opera house and have been searching for this treasure ever since that time."

Ubaldo rolled his eyes and practically spat at the police chief.

"Why do you bother me? I have told you, we did not find the map - it was given to us."

His tone was quite intolerant and Raoul had just about had enough. The man was very insolent for being the one in handcuffs.

Meanwhile, in the other interrogation room, another detective was asking Carlotta the same questions.

"Tell us again, Madam Guidicelli, we need to get this straight."

"I em sick of dis! I haf told all dat I know…you kip asking de same questions and I kip giveeng the same answers!"

Her reactions were much the same as her lovers, only she tended to be a lot less patient than Ubaldo.

"Right now, in the other room, your lover is giving up the name of your source…the one who gave you the map."

Carlotta's eyes shot up and she narrowed them at the detective with something akin to loathing.

"He would not dare tell you about Pieter…"

She realized her mistake as soon as the name escaped her lips. She slapped her hand across her mouth and her eyes fell to her lap, closing in disgust.

The detective marched out of the room, along with one of the guards.

Piangi sat lazily in his chair with a smug look on his flushed face. He watched as the detective and the police chief whispered quietly several feet away.

"So, Monsieur Piangi, your lover just crumbled and gave up Pieter." The chief stared with steely eyes, making Ubaldo feel rather like a laboratory animal.

Piangi's face turned beet red; and, had it been possible, he would have blown smoke out his ears.

"That misbegotten son of ours...hunt him down like the scoundrel he is...he eats my food, breathes my air - and she wants us to be a family - he is psychotic..." he spit on the floor in front of him, emphasizing his dislike of the boy. "...he just showed up a couple of weeks ago - again - he is always showing up when he is not wanted."

The chief smiled and Ubaldo knew that he had just offered up more information…facts they had not gotten from Carlotta.

"I take it you and Pieter are not on the best of terms."

Ubaldo smiled brutishly and his eyes went dark with hatred.

"She babies him and coddles him, despite his 24 years - it has been that way since he was a child." His tone was one of bitterness and jealousy. "He convinced her that he could get the treasure and we could live like royalty."

Raoul frowned, "That obviously did not happen."

Piangi ignored his intrusive words and continued, "He was obsessed with that freak - the Phantom..." he gritted his teeth and literally seethed the next few words, "...Pieter has always been more fond of men than women - his mother's fault, I am sure of it."

"Indeed." Both men agreed, not believing what they had just heard.

"You will get nothing more from me…."

Ignoring the large man's announcement, Raoul pressed onward.

"Why the show, Ubaldo - why try to convince everyone that you were dead?"

He snickered evilly, but did not look at them.

"The thought of having that freak hunted down like an animal for my murder was priceless..." his face contorted in a horrible manner, "...treating Carlotta like he did - thinking himself above all of us when he could not even show his his maggot infested flesh to us...he is unnatural - mark my word..."

It all been a ruse to get Erik blamed for his murder - amongst the chaos of that night, no one had noticed when Piangi had disappeared and showed up for a closed casket funeral a couple of days later.

Ubaldo scanned the room with nervous eyes and clamped his teeth shut.

"You will get no more from me."

"No need, Piangi, you have been quite helpful."

Raoul fled from the room and immediately started out the door.

"Where are you going, Viscount?"

Raoul turned back to look at the chief.

"To go find this Pieter…he is the one who knows why they have a map, where it was found and maybe he can answer a few other questions I have."

Chief Borinuex approached Raoul and spoke calmly, trying to relax the over zealous young aristocrat.

"Viscount, tell me what other questions you need to have answered."

"I have been talking to Annette Giry about the events two ago, the ones that led to the burning of the opera house."

"The night that Monsieur Piangi supposedly perished."

"Yes, that night."

The chief was intrigued. That night was barely mentioned anymore, and especially not by those who had been so closely involved.

"What about it?"

Raoul smiled and then began backing out of the door.

"Come with me, and you'll find out."

They both walked out and headed back toward the market square.

"The boy does not know that we have his parents. He should return to the apartment and think nothing is amiss. Then we will get more answers."

The chief agreed and they went into the apartment and waited – until sundown.

♦♠♦♥

With his parents locked away, Pieter felt he was being sucked into a dark hole with no hope of getting out.

Raoul stood looking at the young man before him; he was not much younger than Raoul and he looked vaguely familiar.

Detective Hulet seemed unperturbed by the young man's terrified jitters. Every limb on the boy's body trembled.

"Is your name Pieter Mallory?"

The boy just sat for a few minutes, rocking back and forth to a silent melody.

**"Is your name Pieter Mallory? **

This time, it was asked with much force; but the young man didn't even flinch.

"It is." He finally responded, stoically.

"Have you recently been released from Belmont Hospital for the mentally ill?"

Pieter lifted empty eyes to the man who spoke. It was then that Raoul realized the boy was not trembling from fear – but rage.

"I was."

"Madam Carlotta Guidicelli and Monsieur Ubaldo Piangi are your parents, is that correct?"

A wicked smirk was seen.

"They are."

"Are you a product of their torrid affair that has been going on for years, despite the fact that they both have spouses?"

A scoff rippled through the room.

"I am."

"Now Pieter, where did you find the map in question and how does it tie into the events that occurred on the night of the fifth of April, 1872?"

The young man laughed hysterically, causing everyone in the room to doubt his sanity, but his speech was coherent and his smile malicious – he knew perfectly well what was going on.

"I found the map several years ago, while rummaging through some old wooden crates I found in a buried cellar in the back of the stables. I was curious and started deciphering the language and hidden clues that were contained within it….it took some time, but I finally managed to find a few of the minor artifacts that it led me to."

"But you never found the treasure?"

Pieter continued to stare ahead with blank eyes.

Raoul stepped forward with a few questions of his own.

"Did you murder Joseph Bouquet?"

Pieter lifted his eyes and showed no emotion for a few moments. Then, a slow, malevolent smile covered his face.

"It was fun, making him squirm like an animal…he had to die…he had designs on him…the Phantom…" at the mention of Erik, the boy's voice softened, "…he thought to take my place…" his voice was sour and full of disdain, "…no one will ever take my place."

Raoul thought the boy was done, but was surprised to hear him continue.

"…Bouquet mocked him every day – through his words and deeds…he was planning on taking him from me."

"You speak of the Phantom?"

"Making them think I was him was easy…combing my own hair back and donning a mask, very few even cared to think otherwise…Bouquet found out…he wanted the Phantom for himself."

Raoul laughed aloud and slammed his fist against the table, shaking the young man into reality.

"You did it; you killed Bouquet and let all of us believe that the Phantom did it."

Those cold, calculating eyes met Raoul's and a shiver ran up his spine like a cold mountain river.

"He had to die…do you not understand…he would have killed Erik." Pieter's voice became whimsical and light. His thoughts were jumping sporadically from the Phantom to Bouquet, "I do not understand how he could have loved that trollop – she practically fornicated with you on many occasions…." Pieter scowled at Raoul with contempt, "…He would have loved me…I know he would have – if he would have known."

A sick feeling arose within Raoul as he started putting the pieces together.

"What about the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_, what were you up to on that night?"

The smile was sadistic and Raoul could barely stand to look at the twisted face of the once handsome young man.

"My greatest work..."

"Tell me about it."

"Why should I, you were there."

Raoul was loosing patience and still had not heard about the night in question.

"I was, but I want to hear your version."

The face went eerily calm and the voice that he used was cool and calculated – robotic.

"I rigged the chandelier to fall, I needed to create a diversion – to get to him and get him out so we could be together…I knew that you would have the police everywhere – trying to corner him." Every time he referenced the Phantom, his voice took on a tenderness that crept coldly up Raoul's spine, "I did not count on him taking Papa's place, but that did not change my plan."

Pieter snarled, producing a vicious, grueling smile that chilled Raoul's blood.

"We were going to burn the entire opera house down and escape out the Phantom's lair…I knew I could find it – I had been so close many times. Bouquet and I searched together on many occasions…." Pieter stopped and looked them dead in the eyes, "I had finally found the final resting place of the treasure…"

Raoul wanted to wrap his hands around the young man's throat and squeeze until the last breath was gone; he wondered where this murderous rage had come from.

"…somehow he altered the projection of the chandelier by going down that shaft as far as he did…it missed the orchestra pit and only knocked over a few of the candles…" his agitated eyes shifted over to Raoul's stoic form and scoffed. "…all of you should have died that night…then we would be free."

A rage such as Raoul had never known burned through his veins and he struggled to keep his temper in check.

"Instead, he disappeared…leaving me to…" the malicious smile was back, "…next time, he will not leave me."

Raoul saw the chief motion for him to come to him. He took a long hard look at the young man who had just admitted to heinous crimes and saw how everyone could be fooled into the thinking the culprit had been Erik…from a distance, there was little difference; tall, lean build and dark hair – nothing else would have mattered; especially with the white mask in place.

Raoul left the room, pushing the bile back down his throat – he had almost killed an innocent man; that did not bode very well with him. If that night had gone as he planned it, Erik would have been dead – for crimes he did not commit.

_I wanted him dead…even without proof that he had actually done it; what does that make me?_

His thoughts were self-loathing as he faced the chief.

"He is demented, Raoul…that is obvious, he belongs in the mental hospital."

"I agree, chief, but there needs to be better security involved."

"What do you suggest?"

Raoul closed his eyes, deep in thought.

"Let his parents bid him good-bye; then, he spends the remainder of his days at Voorhees Institute in Chateauroux."

The chief nodded, agreeing with Raoul's assessment.

"What about Carlotta and Ubaldo?"

"That one is easy….send them packing – after the majority of their possessions are ceased as payment for the damages to the opera house – ban them from entering the country again...or working in an opera house in Europe."

"It is nowhere to be found…"

Pieter suddenly interrupted them. His hallow eyes were bright and soulless. Both the chief and Raoul spun around to look at him.

"…I almost had it in my hands - he would have been so proud..." he spoke of Erik again, and Raoul began to wonder if Erik had been aware of this boys obsession with him.

Raoul was eager to get the events behind them, that treasure had already caused a great deal of heartache and damage. He marched out of the building and knew it was time to tell his wife.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5 Letters

My wonderful beta, Mlle.Fox, is asking for the assistance of my readers. Please visit her profile for details, but she has a very unique idea and would like the help of as many readers as she can get. Let's give her our expert opinions and help her quest along.

I was really hoping for more reviews on the last chapter; but I shall venture onward. Thank you, to those of you who did take the time to post a review.

This story is turning out to be quite long, so bear with me as we take this journey together.

How many of you caught Gerry's appearance on the Tonight Show Friday night...it was the best interview he's done (of course, I say that about every one of them!!!)

He's on The Late, Late Show with Craig Ferguson tonight (or tomorrow morning) at 12:35 am. EST!!! I'm going crazy with anticipation!!

Enjoy!!

**DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS**

CHAPTER 5

Letter from Erik Lacroix to Annette Giry.

_January 17, 1873_

_London_ _England_

_Dear Annette, _

_England__ is a wretched country. I never believed it until now. I have been here for a total of eleven months, and I do believe it has rained every, single day and the fog is so thick that I could wrap myself in it and use it as a cloak. _

_I was pleased to receive your letter; I would not have blamed you for ceasing our acquaintance, especially after my asinine attempt to woo Christine. I do hope, in time, that you will be able to forgive me for all that I have done. _

_The Italian Opera House has become my new haunting grounds, so to speak. I am staring things out a little differently here; they have all seen my disgusting face and have gotten the chance to ask questions and view it openly and freely. _

_At first, I was terrified, fearing that everyone would attack me and haul me away to some God-forsaken institution or another freak show. Thankfully, that did not happen and they eventually got used to it. Some of them even seek out my company – imagine my surprise when that happened. _

_Hammond__ Lambert is the manager and financier of the opera house and he is a shrewd and intelligent business man as well as being a connoisseur of the arts. He has made himself my conscience, and constantly mends my ways – poor soul. _

_I am not happy , I doubt I shall ever be – but I am satisfied - for the time being. _

_The love I had for Christine is fading and I presume that my heart will eventually stop aching – or just stop beating – either way, it will be an improvement. Someday, I hope to be able to look her and Raoul in the face and apologize for my idiotic behavior; but I doubt they will ever allow that to happen. I have finally come to a point in my life where I can wish them both the best and hope that they realize what a blessing it is to have each other. _

_As for Firmin showing an interest in you, that is certainly not unexpected, from my point of view. You are an attractive woman with a strong intelligence and great wit; any man would be honored to have you on his arm. You have a life, Annette, live it; Henri has been gone a very long time. _

_Well, I have certainly rattled on about things that may or may not interest you. I bid you farewell, for now. _

_Erik _

Reply letter from Annette Giry to Erik Lacroix.

_March 23, 1873_

_Paris_ _France_

_My Dear Erik; _

_Your letters are a highlight in my life; do not ever think that I do not wish to hear from you. Meg is doing wonderfully, they have reopened the Opera Populaire and she is back to dancing – something about it being in her blood – or some such nonsense. _

_I told her about you, Erik, as much as I could without betraying your trust. She already knew a great deal, she is a very enterprising young woman; I only reiterated what she had already found out on her own. _

_I am glad to know that you have settled in and are working at what you love to do. It sounds as though you have some great people in _ _London__. Most of all, I am thankful that your name is getting credit for the music you write, the designs you make, and your art; you deserved that long ago. _

_Firmin is a constant bother; the man just will not stop pursuing me. I think he is a fine man and all, but his lack of musical knowledge and his idiotic partner are enough to drive any women to drink! I shall consider being courted, but that is all. _

_The opera house was not as damaged as was originally thought, the managers had it assessed and the damages were repaired in no time. The family de Changy continues to support the opera and we are thankful for that. _

_Erik, you need to know; Christine and Raoul married a couple of weeks after that night. She has tried to remain active in the opera productions, but she does not like the current material that is being performed – nothing is of the quality it was when you were here. _

_I am glad you have moved past your love for her, she is not what you need; she does not have the spirit and fire that you need. But you must know that she cares about you very much, and probably always will. _

_I miss you, do not think that I do not. The opera is suffering in your absence; I think all have realized just how much you were involved in the productions. Your work was never appreciated until you were no longer here – now they know just how many of the productions were written, choreographed, designed, and composed by you. _

_Well, I must go for now, I will await your next letter with an anxious heart. _

_God speed, Erik. _

_Annette _

Letter from Erik Lacroix to Annette Giry.

_September 13, 1873_

_London_ _England_

_Dearest Annette, _

_I find myself amused at my own transformation. It is my belief that you would hardly recognize me for I have become quite civilized. Hard to believe, isn't it? _

_The unbelievable has happened. A young wisp of a girl has captured my heart – do not panic, Annette, I am not in love with her, nor she I – she tells me that she thinks of me more as a brother rather than a father; but either way, I do love her. _

_She is an orphan from _ _Ireland__ and we just seem to have bonded. I trained her to be the new diva in the Italian Opera House where I have gained acceptance and recognition as a composer, designer, and artist. Her voice is like none I have ever heard. _

_She never feared me, although I gave her plenty of reasons. I was a bitter man when I found her wasting her talent in a tavern in the middle of _ _Dublin__. I barely gave her a choice when it came to coming with me; but she saw the opportunity to better her life and came willingly. _

_I have poured myself into her, molding and fashioning her into the star that I know she can be. However, I know that she is an individual and needs a life outside the opera house, so I make sure she has a social life – I will not make that mistake again. _

_I have not asked of late, how are things going with the bothersome Mr. Firmin? Have you allowed him to court you or do you have your female eye upon another? _

_And no, Annette, there is not – nor will there ever be – a love in my life, I have learned my lesson where matters of the heart are concerned; I shall not push myself upon another. _

_As for Christine caring about me, I think you are mistaken; the child feared me; especially after she found I was a man and not an angel or ghost. My ugliness prevents anyone from truly caring about me, I know this. Therefore, I take whatever feelings people manage to have for me. _

_I draw this letter to an end. I hope the coming Christmas season will be a good one for you. I will be celebrating my first Christmas in thirty years; not since the years with my mother have I had a reason to enjoy this season. _

_Yours, _

_Erik _

Reply letter from Annette Giry to Erik Lacroix.

_March 11, 1874_

_Paris_ _France_

_Dearest Erik, _

_I realize that it has been a few months since my last letter; there has been so much happening around me – much of it has been difficult to take in. _

_It is with a bittersweet heart that I relay the following information to you. With it comes the knowledge that I, and many others that I know, have done you a great injustice. I have come to realize that you had no idea there was a warrant out for your arrest for the murder of Bouquet. You were probably as confused by our actions as we were by yours. _

_It has also come to our attention that you did not murder Piangi that night; for he has been found, alive and well; living not far from the opera house with Carlotta and their son; whose name seems to have escaped me. _

_What I am trying to say, and seem to be unable to blurt it out, is that I want you to come home, Erik. _ _Paris__ has been your home for several years and I know that you miss it. You are a free man and I, for one, would really like to have you back. The opera in _ _Paris__ has become dull and lifeless without you. You were the life blood that pumped through it. _

_There is much more to the story concerning Piangi, but I will not take the time to write it in this letter. I would much rather speak to you in person when you come back. You are coming back, yes? Your efforts on the night of the big fire have been heralded as heroic; for they now know that you saved the lives of many, as well as Christine's life. _

_There is so much that needs to be resolved between us – meaning you and many of the others that are awaiting your return. Forgive us for our narrow-minded grasp on reality, and come home Erik, please. _

_Always yours, _

_Annette _

♠♥♣♦

Erik read the last letter with mixed feelings. How would he respond to that? He knew they had thought he murdered Piangi, but Bouquet? There was no way he could have traveled from the back of the opera house after calling Carlotta a toad and demanding box five be left empty, to the rafters over the stage to murder that swine of a man.

He had thought about it, the man was the lowest of the low; but murder was not part of who Erik was; he had killed many times in his past- had a great deal of blood on this hands – survival had been his top priority; but murder, that was different.

He wanted to tell Annette about Tarrah and his role as her guardian, but he did not want to lead her to believe that he was coming back to Paris, there were just too many bad memories associated with that city.

He needed to tell her other things, as well; however, she would expect an answer concerning his return. Erik laughed mockingly at his own uncertainty, he was allowing the part of him that he feared to take over, he had never allowed his fears to dominate, and he would not start now.

His eyes lifted from the letter to watch Tarrah enter the room and smile at him.

"News from Paris?"

Erik leaned back in the chair and stretched his muscles. His long legs were not accustomed to being folded under a desk for hours on end, but he was in the middle of a tremendous composition and he had only taken a break to read the letter from Annette.

"Yes, they request my presence…it seems the Phantom has been deemed a dark hero."

He did not sound overly enthused and Tarrah picked up on that quite quickly.

"Then why the wrinkled brow and scowl?"

He smiled lazily, a more common occurrence since Tarrah had come into his life. She seemed to look beyond the disaster that was his face and see the soul that rested within.

"I do not think I can go back there, Tarrah, there is just too much pain that still pulls at me when I think about what a fool I was and how close I came to giving into the darkness completely."

Tarrah rolled her eyes, went around to the back of him, and put her hands on his broad, tight shoulders. She leaned over and hugged his neck, giving him little chance to resist her embrace.

"You are such a pessimist and you make yourself appear older than you are…will you stop talking like you will never find love…it is really getting old."

Erik chuckled and put his large hands over her much smaller ones. He relished these moments of closeness; she touched him without revulsion or fear – he still wasn't used to it, but he yearned for it.

"Your vision of me is unique, Tarrah." He turned his head to look up into her dark, deep blue eyes. "And, just to clear things up, I am old."

"You are only as old as you feel." She remarked, rubbing her cheek against his lightly bearded cheek.

Erik reached up and tweaked her nose with his index finger.

"Then I must be a hundred and two!" he teased. "Besides, I do not wish to fall in love again, it just causes me pain."

Tarrah removed her arms from around him and sat precariously on the desk, swinging her legs like a small child.

"We do not have a choice about these things, Erik…" she hopped off the desk and started out the door, "…rest assured, doubting Thomas, there is love out there for you, and it will find you."

She left and Erik just shook his head with a curious smile on his face, she never failed to call him beautiful in some way, his exposed features, his muscular, lean form; his music, his eyes, his hands, his mind – it did not matter, she always found beauty in him.

He picked up his pen and began his reply to Annette…she would not be happy.

_April 23, 1874_

_Annette, _

_Your letter was indeed one of good news; to be found innocent of crimes I never committed in the first place is quite an accomplishment on my part. Thank you for telling me. However, I will not return to _ _Paris_

_I have made a life for myself here, and have taken on responsibilities I never thought to have; to leave them would be another failure among many in my life – I will not do it. _

_It is best for everyone involved if I stay away, we both know this. I am no longer in love with Christine; I forced that ridiculous notion out of me. Moreover, I can honestly say that I am no longer angry with Raoul – for the best man won her heart – the only man, really; for I doubt the world will ever see me as such. _

_There is little in my life for which I am proud, but in _ _England__, I have felt this unfamiliar stirring in my stone cold heart. There may be some reason in the future that will draw me back to _ _Paris__; but for now, I shall remain here. _

_Your friend, _

_Erik Lacroix _

TBC


	6. Chapter 6 The Shoe's on the Other Foot

_300_ opens tomorrow!!! I have my tickets (bought them through FANDANGO last week!) and I am taking the day off to prepare!! My friend is coming Fayetteville and we are going to have a blast! Gerry's going to be on Craig Ferguson again that night (Saturday morning 12:35 EST)! I am going to be completely useless!!!

Where is everyone? My first three chapters got 12 reviews, 11 reviews, and another 12 - these last two have only had 8!!! I need them to survive - they are my air!! Okay, I'm being a bit dramatic, but I love to hear from you. I don't expect the number that I get with an Erik/Christine story, but I would still like to get a few more - I know, I'm begging!!

Anyway, enjoy my lovelies.

**DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS**

CHAPTER 6

_March 13, 1874__ – _ _Paris_ _France_

Christine could feel an unusual bitterness in her heart seep its way throughout her entire being. What a cruel joke life had played on her and the man she felt a connection to – a connection far deeper than that of romantic love.

"You mean to tell me that most of the events that occurred that night were not even my Angel's doing?"

Her voice was quiet but full of a building wrath.

Raoul didn't even have to speak, his eyes said all that needed to be said.

"He was hunted down like an animal, his home and possessions destroyed…" she turned steely eyes on Raoul, "…tell me, who is the animal in this scenario?"

The anger in her voice and features made Raoul's ire begin to simmer.

"Why did he not insist upon his innocence Christine, tell me that…all the things he was accused of – and he did not say a word."

"That's because he did not know."

They both turned to see Annette Giry walk through the door and into the parlor. Her regal steps were no less sure than they had been several years ago; she seemed ageless and eternal.

"What do you mean, he did not know?"

Raoul indicated the couch for her to sit down. Christine took the seat next to her and accepted the motherly comfort that her presence seemed to provide.

Raoul sat down across from them; staring remotely out the large window, watching the sun drop down behind the silhouette of the city.

"Did you or anyone else accuse him of the murder of Bouquet?"

Christine and Raoul looked at each other, realizing the point she was making.

"He had no idea he was being hunted for the death of Bouquet."

Christine raised her head and looked directly into Annette's eyes.

"Why did we think it so easy for him to escalate from practical jokes to murder?"

The question hung in the air without anyone attempting to answer it. They all knew that it was a long stretch.

"Bouquet had been mocking him for years, if Erik had wanted him dead he would have done it long ago and without all the attention."

Christine wiped the tears from her face and laughed without humor.

"He thought his face alone was the cause of everyone's murderous intentions…" a wide-eyed, tear-filled look settled on her face, "…what he must think of us…"

Raoul felt the sinking feeling in his heart; her feelings for Erik were still a great mystery to him. He was certain she felt deeply for him, he just couldn't determine if it was love or not.

"…are we any better than those in his past?"

Annette furrowed her brow and cast a furtive look at Raoul. This did not escape the sorrowed eyes of Christine.

"Raoul filled me in on some of the details that you shared with him…tell me, did you think me too delicate or witless to share my Angel's past with me?"

Annette sighed and swallowed deeply, she had hurt Christine by keeping Erik's identity from her; now, she felt betrayed.

"Erik is not proud of his past Christine; he did not want you or anyone else to know about it…you still do not know everything – none of us do - and I pray that we never do."

"Where is he?"

Christine's sudden question caught Annette of guard and the truth showed in her eyes.

"You know, do you not?"

Annette stood and started toward the door, not willing to give up any other information; especially with her eyes.

"If he wanted you to know, he would have told you."

Christine rushed to her and grasped her hands in hers; her eyes were full of tears and she looked desperate.

"Just tell me that he is alright."

Annette lifted her chin and then allowed a smile to soften her features.

"He is…as close to content as he has ever been."

Christine accepted that, but only because she felt that she had to. Her Angel was gone from her, and for the first time in a couple of years, she shed real tears. She was no longer frightened of him and the effect he had on her, she knew that her reaction to him was certainly not his fault. She also knew that she had to learn to cope with her feelings for him or her marriage would suffer.

"Has he found love?"

Annette considered the role of Tarrah in his life, but knew that Christine expected him to find a romantic love, and Tarrah was not that.

"No, and he no longer looks for it."

Christine silently nodded her head. There was sadness in her eyes and Annette knew she desperately wanted him to find love; but Annette was certain that when he did, there would be a wave of jealousy in Christine that she didn't expect.

"Thank you." 

Madam Giry left, leaving Christine and Raoul to discuss what was happening between them and move past the doubts.

"Christine…"

"We almost killed him, Raoul…a man who has known so much hate and mistrust throughout his life..." she looked at him with pleading eyes, "…how does that make you feel?"

Raoul was suddenly defensive, it seemed as though she was blaming everything on him.

"Awful! That's how it makes me feel…what do you want me to say…that I am capable of murder?"

"Are you?"

Her question was asked honestly and with such pain, that Raoul forgot his anger.

"I never used to think so…but the rage soaring through me in the graveyard that day was so strong and...alive..." Raoul closed his eyes, hoping to blot out the memory, "...if you had not stopped me, I would have run him through."

The shock of his own intentions forced Raoul to drop back into the chair behind him. There were unshed tears in his hazel eyes,.

"I have been so concentrated on the fact that he had a noose around my neck that night, when I tried to kill him first..." Raoul looked up into Christine's tear-stained features, "...I am capable of murder."

Christine looked away and then walked over to the window. A soft rain had begun to fall and the drops crept down the glass of the window, leaving trails of intricate design that she followed with her finger.

Her Angel's murderous tendencies had been a great influence on her fear of him; now she realized how displaced those feelings were...she had married a man who could commit murder.

Changing the subject seemed best, considering the heaviness in the air.

"I know you question my feelings for him, and you should."

Raoul said nothing, but he held his breath until she spoke again.

"What I feel for him transcends romantic love, Raoul…for so long I thought him an angel and to think romantic thoughts of him was somehow…forbidden." She did not look at him, but her hand fell from the window to rest at her side. "I realize how naive I was in my reaction to him…I thought he was supposed to awaken these feelings in me to make me a better singer – a better artist…"

She looked to Raoul for understanding, and saw a concerned but involved look on his face.

"…I know he is slightly older than me, and so very handsome – although he would never believe it – but I see him as a beloved friend and mentor. I never saw him as a lover."

"But you are attracted to him…aren't you?"

Raoul knew she was – there was no denying it.

She went to him this time and took his hands in hers. Her eyes softened and she lifted one of her hands to caress his clean-shaved cheek.

"A part of me is, and always will be; but he is apparently not my type."

Raoul raised a brow and cocked his head slightly, looking down at her in amusement.

"Just exactly what _is_ 'your type'?"

She smiled teasingly and moved away from him as a knock sounded on the door.

"I am not sure; I will get back to you."

♦♥♣♠

"This is awful, we need something we have not performed before…this is just too amateur."

Gilles André was steaming. He had endured entirely too many jeers about the musical play he had written. It was his finest work…even if it was his first.

"How dare you…you have no idea of the amount of time and effort that went into this."

"André, they're right, it is awful…what were you thinking?"

Richard Firmin stood tall and unmoving as he voiced his opinion to his shorter, stockier partner. They had many disagreements, but few of them had been over music.

"Neither one of us is qualified enough to be writing musical scores or dialogue."

"At least I am trying to do something about this unacceptable situation in which we find ourselves."

Madam Giry stood not far away with her arms crossed over her chest and a look of complete disgust on her face.

"Gentlemen, is this really necessary?"

They stopped arguing and looked at her, both feeling as though a wife or a mother was reprimanding them.

"What would you suggest, Annette…we are running out of options?"

Gilles shook his head in agreement.

"We have lost many of the best performers and quite a few of the staff to other opera houses, especially the one across the Channel, what is it called?"

He looked for support from Richard, who readily gave it.

"The Italian Opera House…" Firmin rolled his eyes, "…why they call an opera house in London the Italian Opera House I will never know…but it is apparently thriving and we are being swept under the rug."

Annette smirked and walked toward them, resisting the urge to box both of them in the ears like bickering children.

"I have asked Erik to return, I am unsure of his answer at this time, but the option remains open."

Both men immediately grew quiet and thoughtful.

"You know where he is?"

She gave one nod of her head.

"Really, why did you not tell us this earlier?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"He does not wish for everyone to know where he is, he is finally living a life with which he feels content."

"We are hoping he will come back to us now that we know the truth behind Bouquet, the fire, and Carlotta and Piangi."

Christine had made her way over to them after removing her costume.

"My husband and his family reluctantly allowed me to come back to the opera and make use of the gift that my Angel gave me, he would want the best for me."

"Madam, we simply have no other options unless we get our hands on an original Lacroix opera – they are the rage all over Europe, especially in the United Kingdom."

Gilles went quiet after making that suggestion. Richard shook his head in agreement, but put things into prospective.

"Yes, a Lacroix would be marvelous; however, we do not have the personnel or the staff to accommodate such extensive productions." He rubbed his chin in exasperation and continued with another problem. "Nor can we afford the cost of getting an original Lacroix – the man's work goes for 50,000 British pounds – per composition; that is entirely too rich for our pockets."

Gilles agreed, but his face showed an annoyance at the ever-rising cost of doing business.

"I do not understand how the man reached such high standards in such a short time."

Richard fixed a stern stare on his partner and long-time friend.

"He is apparently been in the shadows for some time, writing under assumed names and his music has been heard in many places – no one knew it was him."

Annette was doing all she could to keep from laughing at the bickering men, they sounded like an old married couple.

"Gentlemen…we have had Lacroix's music here in the past."

Both men stopped their ranting and looked at Annette with interest.

"Really…when?"

"In fact, we had it for a good long time and our opera house is the first opera house in which an original Lacroix was performed."

Neither man could have looked more ridiculous; they both shared a wide-eyed glance and then looked back at Annette.

"Do not tell us…the Opera Ghost…this Erik…he is…."

Richard couldn't even get the words out.

"Yes." She affirmed with a stern stare.

He threw his hands up and scoffed loudly.

"Great, now we have managed to run off the greatest living composer of our time; _after_ accusing him of murders he did not commit, _and_ making him feel less than human….André…" He looked at his stunned partner with irritation, "…this is doing nothing for my nerves."

Without any ready solution to their predicament, they had no choice but to perform an old reliable opera and get mediocre participation from the public; everyone tried to forget the season when it was over…everyone.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7 Small Victories

300 was so breathtaking to watch! I saw it three times this weekend; and I think I could see it another three times at least. Visually stunning and artistically brutal - I have never seen anything like it! GERRY was absolutely perfect!!

Thank you for all the reviews and please do not forget to go by Mlle.Fox's profile and take part in her idea.

Enjoy!

**DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS**

CHAPTER 7

_May 1, 1874__ – _ _London__England_

The performance was a moving one; finding words to describe the innate beauty of it was difficult.

As she finished the last line of the last song, Tarrah knew she had done the best she had ever done; and afterwards, the audience bombarded her with flowers and small trinkets of appreciation.

Hammond pulled her in for a huge hug, almost swallowing her within his bulk. She felt a kinship with the man that could be described as family…he was like a proud uncle. His Irish heritage just added to that illusion and Tarrah cared a great deal about him.

"You did a tremendous job, Tarrah…I should have never doubted you."

She wrapped her young arms around him, as best she could, and returned his embrace.

"Thank you, Hammond, but it is Erik who deserves the praise. Without his constant haggling and expert instruction, I would still be making a pitiful living on the streets of Ireland."

Hammond laughed, his round belly shaking like Saint Nicholas, and hugged her even harder.

"Yes, Erik was quite a find…although it was he who found me."

Tarrah let him fight the crowds off as she made her way toward her dressing room. She was anxious to get out of these confining clothes and into the more practical clothes that Erik had bought her.

"Where is he, anyway?" She asked.

"He was sidetracked after the curtain call, many wanted to congratulate him and I think there were even a couple of reporters that wanted to interview him."

Tarrah smiled with a bit of a chuckle, knowing that Erik was doing all he could to avoid drawing any attention to himself.

"Perhaps I should go rescue him."

Hammond watched the exhausted girl head off in the direction of the main lobby, in search of the man to whom she owed her life.

She found him, looking like a cornered panther, trying to avoid the questions that were being hurled at him from every direction.

"Gentlemen, Monsieur Lacroix is very tired and his time is precious – please schedule an appointment through the theater's public liaison if you would like an interview."

All eyes turned to the beautiful, young diva as she took command of the situation.

"Miss Sheldon, is it true that he has been appointed your guardian…or is there more to your relationship than that?"

She smiled, trying to hide her annoyance, but her eyes were daggers of intolerance as she steeled them on the man who had spoken.

"Monsieur Lacroix has been appointed my guardian; but, more importantly, he is like a brother to me….does that satisfy your curiosity?"

"So he remains unmarried?"

"As of right now, yes."

"The female patrons of the opera are interested in knowing more about him; he is undoubtedly wealthy and incredibly gifted – all of England knows about the deformity he covers with the mask – but they want to know more."

Erik had managed to slink into the shadows and was watching Tarrah handle the pressure of their questions on his behalf…she really was a godsend.

_Why on earth do they want to know more about me?_ Erik asked himself.

People never ceased to amaze him with their over zealous sense of curiosity.

"I am sorry gentlemen, I have answered enough questions concerning Monsieur Lacroix for now, his story is his own and he will tell it when he is ready...good evening."

Tarrah had given her own story several times, and Erik's role in her life had always been a part of her story…she was not a mystery to the people of Great Britain, but Erik was.

Without meaning to, Erik had become a public enigma; an eccentric genius who barely spoke to anyone outside the opera house and seldom allowed anyone close to him.

His behavior just made him that much more of a mystery and he soon became one of the most eligible bachelors in all of England; not that this mattered to him. He knew that no woman would take a serious interest in him, so he thought nothing of it.

"Are you the former Phantom of the Opera?"

A brave young lad had raised his voice above the others and his question pierced the ears of everyone listening.

Erik stopped abruptly and turned to see the young man that asked the question.

Steely green eyes narrowed in infuriation as Erik looked at the boy much the way a dark, dangerous bird watches its prey.

"Are you, monsieur – and if you are, how does it feel to finally be cleared of the charges that were against you?"

Tarrah felt her heart beat furiously in her chest, she couldn't answer this one, Erik had to take control now, or never be able to face the public again.

"I have found, in my vast experience of watching and listening to people, that they will believe whatever they want, regardless of what I say or do to the contrary." Erik smiled this time, fully showing the handsome and charming man that he could be, "You have already determined in your mind that I am who you say I am…therefore, anything I say will only solidify your belief."

He turned around and began walking away from them with Tarrah by his side. He stopped again, turned and caught the eye of the young man – one more time.

"It is great to be cleared of charges, but the worst was being accused in the first place…good night."

Erik knew that he was virtually admitting to having been the Phantom, but it was no secret among the theater goers, the staff, crew, and cast that he matched all the descriptions of the Phantom and just about everyone was intrigued by this.

"You have really done it now, Erik…they will be wanting more from you."

Erik smirked down into the lovely face of Tarrah. He took her hands in his and planted a kiss to the top of her knuckles.

"They will only get what I am willing to give…and I am an expert at avoiding people and situations that I have no desire to find myself in." He continued to walk out the side door of the theater and head down the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?"

He offered his arm and a sideways smirk.

"I am going to walk home, care to join me?"

♠♣♥♦

They walked through the May mist, enjoying the coolness of the Spring evening and each other's company.

Tarrah felt safe and secure in Erik's strength and wondered if the man had fears. He always seemed rather aloof toward most people, but she had never seen him fear anyone or anything – other than becoming her guardian.

"Are you happy, Erik?"

She asked the question before she really had a chance to think about it. He never seemed truly happy about anything.

He continued to walk, his gloved hands clasped behind his back and a thoughtful expression on his face.

He glanced at her, not sure if she expected an answer or not, but saw that she awaited his reply with a wrinkled brow and curious eyes.

"Happiness is not a state I strive for, Tarrah, it would require many things I shall never have."

"You seem completely resolved to that…why?"

Her question was innocent enough, but Erik cringed at having to answer; there was so much about him that she did not know; and he wanted to keep it that way.

He stopped walking and turned toward her. His intense, solemn eyes bore into her with the flickering embers of the moon reflected in their dark depths.

"Will you trust me when I say that your presence in my life has brought me as close as I have ever been to happiness?"

She smiled, and then dropped her eyes and looked away from him.

"Have you ever loved anyone…I mean…." She looked up and stared straight in to his face, looking him deep in the eyes, "…in a romantic way."

She could tell that she had broached a sensitive subject. His shoulders stiffened and his chin lifted in defiance, casting a shadow over his features that hid his eyes.

"Why do you ask these questions?"

His tone was curt, but he did not want to talk about his love life…it was painfully lacking and this was obvious to him.

"Because I want to know…and because I love you like a brother."

A slight smile gradually formed and he relaxed slightly, allowing her to see the softer side of him that had recently begun to surface more often.

"I loved once…a couple of years ago."

He was gone again, lost in the past; Tarrah had seen that look on his face many times over the last year.

"What happened?"

He turned from her and started walking again, headed toward the center of town and the large apartment he shared with Tarrah and the housekeeper, Mrs. McGhee. Tarrah stood her ground for a few moments and then quickly caught up to him.

She touched his arm gently, causing him to turn toward her.

"What happened, Erik?"

His voice was low and troubled, but still so beautiful.

"She loved another."

She said nothing in response, but continued to watch him as he pushed back memories he did not desire to remember.

"I can look back on it now and find humor in my idiocy…" he scoffed and shook his head slightly, "…she was being courted by a handsome, young aristocrat." He finally looked Tarrah in the eye and smiled sadly, "What chance did I have?"

It was no use arguing with him. He considered himself ugly beyond words, despite what Tarrah told him. However, just because he had never heeded her words in the past, did not stop her from saying them again.

Erik, on the other hand, anticipated her thoughts and spoke first.

"Before you say anything….she was only sixteen when I was pursuing her…the same age as you are….I was thirty…" He had hoped for a shocked reaction, but he did not get one. "…what do you think now?"

Tarrah had him, and she knew it.

"When I first saw you, I thought you were the most handsome man I had ever seen…I knew you were older than me…but that does not keep a girl from getting a crush."

Tarrah did not hesitate to tell him this…she should have made her feelings known to him long ago.

Erik, however, was stunned. He took a couple of steps back from her; he couldn't believe what she said.

"Day after day, I stood at your side – learning from you…my awakening woman's heart yearning for you – but I knew you did not look at me that way; you always called me child and wee one."

Erik finally chuckled, remembering the awkward weeks he spent trying to adjust to Tarrah's constant invasion on his life.

"You became my best friend – my protector. Now you are my big brother."

He smiled at her and initiated a rare show of his affection by hugging her.

"Why weren't you afraid of me…like all the others have been?"

He pulled back and looked down at her impish features.

"Why would I have been afraid…your mask?" he nodded his head lightly, but she stopped it with a warm hand to his perfect, unmarred cheek, "… all it did was make you that much more mysterious and handsome…I eventually found out why you wore it and it made no difference."

She grinned and planted a kiss on his left cheek. When she pulled back, she winked at him and backed away.

"Besides, the right woman will not care if you have a flawed cheek…I have seen you without a shirt!"

His jaw dropped and his eyes went dark.

"What!" he bellowed, shock written all over his face.

She ran from him, giggling like a water nymph and Erik could do nothing but yell after her fading figure.

"You are going to explain yourself, young lady!"

TBC


	8. Chapter 8 Rescue Me

Thank you! I give you the woman that will cherish our Erik. 

**DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS**

CHAPTER 8

_India__, December 1875 _

"I believe this concludes our business, Keshav."

The studious Englishman stood against the gray walls, presenting a rather pathetic display of British power. He was rather short in stature, but made up for it in his over-developed sense of self- awareness.

Quirky, blond hair hung loosely about his narrow face and his dull, gray eyes hardly showed any emotion at all. Nothing about the man seemed worthy of the attention he demanded, but he certainly expected it and let those around him know this with his arrogance.

"Lord Garrison, I will see to it that our arrangement is fulfilled on the last day of this month."

Romir Keshav had always been rather cowardly and accepting. He chose to compromise his standards and morals to keep from creating waves with those who had power over him; especially against the building British Empire in India…he wanted his place in it.

The two men had a great deal in common, although this fact was invisible to the naked eye. Douglas was a product of excellent British stock; the finest teachers that money could buy had schooled him, and he was considered quite a catch in the society gossip circles.

However, beneath the surface, Douglas was conniving and cruel. He over-indulged in wine, women, and pretty, young boys …if the mood struck him; which was quite often. Those who knew him, wished they did not; and all of them called him a weasel and a snake behind his back and smiled wincingly to his face.

Romir Keshav was made of the same ingredients, only he lacked the nerve to use his darkness to its fullest potential. Nevertheless, as fate would have it, these two crossed paths and a partnership was born…so to speak.

"I do not want any surprises, Keshav; I do not deal well with betrayal and I never leave loose ends…." the smaller man promised – his eyes narrowing dangerously, "…I do not intend to start now."

"I see no reason why things cannot happen as you have planned them, my lord."

Lord Garrison gave a sour smile and silenced Keshav with a lift of his hand.

"Do not patronize me; just see to it that you do your part."

Romir bowed his head in submission and clasped his hands together. This would be his sweetest deal yet…after years of making piddling amounts with the "games" he sponsored and arranged, he had finally come upon a man whose greed and debauchery matched his own.

He watched Lord Garrison leave and then turned toward the large cherry desk in the corner of the room. He sat down in the leather chair and propped his feet up on the desk. He wore a satisfied smirk, and a mirthless laugh filled the room; he cared not that his plans would ruin lives – it was a small, pitiful price to pay for the riches and power he would obtain.

Romir called for the servant to come to him. When the young boy appeared, his tone was rude and abrupt.

"Bring Sharad to me."

The young boy rushed off to deliver the message and Romir scoffed disgustedly. He had no place in his life for petty servants and people with problems. His dreams were on the verge of coming true.

He had once been an honorable man – years ago; however, the seducing song of greed and the power that money afforded him pulled him into a life devoid of conscience and regrets. His family had known little about the fire raging within him…and it had cost them – dearly.

A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts and he looked up to find his son standing before him.

"It is about time…could you be any slower?"

The disgusted tone was nothing new to Sharad; he had lived with his father's disappointment and disinterest for the greater part of his thirty – four years.

"You bellowed, father."

"Do not take that tone with me, young man…you would do well to bow to my every word."

Sharad sneered loudly, making his father writhe in anger.

"Why father…so you can turn me into a simpering, mindless tool of your depravity?"

Romir stood and looked up into the defiant eyes of his only son.

"Your insolence is becoming most taxing."

Sharad quirked a dark brow at his father's spiteful tone.

"What you see as insolence…I see as honesty."

Romir narrowed his black eyes and almost struck the handsome face of his son.

"You have never understood me, or what I do…the business that allowed you to attend the best schools, train in all the self-defense methods, and maintain a rich life."

Sharad laughed bitterly and turned from his father's condescending attitude.

"Business…is that what you call it?"

"You know nothing." Romir spat.

"I know enough to know that you are a murderer and a coward…that's all I need to know." Sharad spat back, feeling power surge through him as he spoke.

"I never murdered anyone…you half-wit."

The smirk that danced upon Sharad's full mouth was so beautifully malicious that Romir almost backed away from him.

"You may not have personally issued the killing blow or shot the final bullet…but you killed those men, Father…no one but you would hang for the crimes."

Romir felt one fleeting moment of panic fill his stomach, he wondered how much his son really knew - and whom he had told.

"I should kill you where you stand."

Sharad almost laughed at his father's threat…it wasn't the first – and it wouldn't be the last.

"I'd like to see you to try."

When had Sharad become such a threat to him? Romir had never been close to his son - or his daughter, for that matter – children were a complication he had not wanted.

He sighed loudly and managed to lift bored eyes to his son's handsome face.

"You will plan a ball for the end of the month."

Sharad raised his brow another time; his father hated such gatherings.

"For what possible reason would we throw a ball?"

Romir smiled; but hidden within his curved lips, Sharad saw the demon that was his father.

"For your sister, of course, I am to announce her engagement."

Sharad's features went completely blank and the color drained from his face.

"What?"

Romir watched with elation as his son tried to decipher what he had just heard.

"Yes, she will wed Lord Douglas Garrison on the 31st of this month." His tone was one of pride and greed, "A smart match, if I do say so myself."

Sharad seethed, filling his heart with a festering hatred such as he had never known before.

"He is a disgusting, demented man…you cannot bind Lavanya to him - it will kill her!"

"I would and I have…'tis a done deal, Sharad…you should be happy for her." He smiled wickedly, "Besides, she is getting too old and no man wants a woman who thinks too much…I am doing her a favor."

Sharad advanced on his father, fury oozing from every pore in his body.

"This is low father, even for you."

Romir continued with his thoughts, ignoring Sharad's statement.

"This union will allow me access to his magnificent resources – he is a man who shares my particular interests and his greed surpasses my own."

Sharad knew exactly of what his father spoke. Douglas Garrison had no scruples – the man cared not for the people he had to go through to get to where he was going. The "games" his father had petitioned long ago would be back…and with Garrison's financing – even more deadly than before.

"Did you ever love us…ever?"

Romir shrugged his shoulders and then smirked without remorse.

"I do not think I am capable of giving or showing love….nor are any of you worthy of it."

There was nothing left to say and Sharad left the presence of his father feeling more determined than ever that he had to get Lavanya out of India…he had been considering it for some time. His father's sick plan had escalated his determination and Sharad was a man who got things done.

He stormed away from this father's loathsome presence and made his plans.

♣♥♦♠

Several days later, he awaited her arrival with anticipation. He scanned the crowds that had just exited the train, and found his sister's face amongst them - his smile was effervescent and she responded in like form.

"Oh Sharad, you are certainly a sight for sore eyes…how are you?"

Lavanya pulled him toward her for a long, sisterly hug and kissed his cheek. They were as close as any siblings could be.

She had only been gone for a few weeks, but Sharad realized just how much those weeks had changed her. She was preparing for life as an independent woman, having not found a man who appreciated her rare intelligence nor her sensual desire for dancing.

"I am fine, little sister…and look at you…"

He spun her around as though doing the waltz and admired the grace and elegance she seemed born to wear; gone was the awkward, scrawny girl of years past – in her place was a woman of exotic and rare beauty.

"…you are exquisite!"

She curtsied and then lifted smiling eyes to him.

He packed her things into the carriage and prepared for the two-hour trip to their home.

"Tell me all about it…how is our aunt Selvi?"

Lavanya rolled her eyes and wrinkled her nose, a trait that Sharad found very endearing.

"Tiresome….determined to marry me off – she thinks I am becoming a spinster – an old maid! She paraded the young men in front of me at every opportunity!"

"Let me guess…they were all a complete bore."

Lavanya giggled and nodded her head.

"Complete bores!"

Sharad laughed and caressed her cheek.

"Come now, it could not have been that bad."

She scoffed and daintily rolled her eyes.

"Men who are complete and devoted gentlemen are complete and utter bores…give me a man who is a bit of a rake; slightly damaged….he is the man that will steal my heart."

She saw the light go out in Sharad's eyes and wondered what he knew that she did not. Her smile faded and the jesting tone in her voice diminished.

"What is it, Sharad?"

He tried to fake a smile, but he wasn't very good at it and she saw the trepidation in the corners of his eyes.

"Whatever happens, Lavanya; just know that I have your best interests at heart – no matter what father does. I will take care of it."

She frowned, not knowing why he had a sudden change of mood.

"I know you will, Sharad…you always do."

Despite her wishes to the contrary, she still lived in a man's world; she would have no money or means of support once she left her father's house. Sharad had a good income and money of his own, but his assets were mostly in property and material goods.

There was no way that she would accept being a burden to Sharad; she had to marry. She had resolved herself to that fact - but no man had made her heart beat faster or her tummy flutter with anticipation; and she had hoped to not have to settle for anything less. However, there comes a time when dreams must end.

She had never bowed, Sharad thought, never given in and become a whimpering female who lamented the loss of her childhood – or the loss of her individuality. She was the strong one…out of the two of them…she was definitely the strong one.

"I loathe the idea of becoming some pompous Englishman's proper, dutiful wife – lying beneath him as he uses my body for amusement – westerners have no concept of a woman's needs and Indian men want a docile dove as a wife – neither of them put her needs above their own…" Lavanya's voice was full of disdain and deep-seeded hatred, "…if father has his way, I'll be popping out baby after baby until my husband has had his fill and moves on to some younger woman."

She refused to cry…tears had run their course two years ago when her father had told her his intent…when her dreams had died before ever seeing the light of day. It served no purpose being a woman in a man's world - no purpose but their purpose.

"…I would slit my wrists before I would let some insipid dandy touch me…

"You knew of Father's plan…" Sharad whispered, "…all this time…you knew."

She leaned toward him in the rumbling carriage and smiled sadly.

"Why do you think he sent me away…he needed me to be 'properly instructed' on the ways of a woman..." her tone was sarcastic and caustic, "…how to please a man – in bed and out…"

She looked up into Sharad's deep, dark eyes and spoke with heated conviction.

"…he will have to get me in bed first – then there are numerous things I can do – and none of them pleasant."

Sharad reared back and cringed. The idea of the damage a scorned woman could do was frightening…he hurt just thinking about it.

She suddenly smiled, knowing she had made him immensely uncomfortable.

Sharad took her slender, petite hands in his and lifted them to his lips for a kiss.

"I rather missed your stubborn, independent streak…it is so unlike a typical Indian woman…" his eyes twinkled with mirth, "…and it drives father crazy…I support anything that will do that."

Lavanya yawned; Sharad pulled her over to him and she rested her head in his lap.

"Rest, sweet sister, we will talk later."

♣♠♥♦

Romir was seething. He despised education women. He stood rigid and cold as he observed the woman that his daughter had become.

His late wife had seen to it that Lavanya was schooled, against his wishes, when he was gone for long periods of time. He had made in quite clear that no daughter of his was going to be educated to the level of a man.

Of course, that hadn't stopped Henna from going against his wishes and making his daughter into the scourge of Indian society. Men wanted docile, gentle wives – not mouthy, open-minded, opinionated wives. Lavanya was everything that Indian men and the English aristocrats, at least the ones with deep, heavy pockets, did not want.

He had managed to secure a very lucrative marriage for her and she was arguing the particulars with him; how dare she!

"You will do as you are told, and we will not speak of this again!"

Nothing Romir could have said would have been more of a catalyst for disagreement than those words. Lavanya narrowed her blue/green eyes, a gift from her maternal grandmother, and defied him with a silent, deadly stare.

"No man will ever own me, father, no man….you have tried and you have failed – thanks to mother."

"She is dead and you are _my _daughter…I say you will marry Lord Garrison and you will – in two weeks."

He assumed the discussion was closed and turned his back on her. He felt a surge of adrenaline spike through him…he controlled her – and every evil thing in him fed off that knowledge.

He turned to give her one last stare before leaving. She stood erect and proud – showing no fear of him, and he did not intimidate her…if Romir had been any other father, he would have been proud; instead, her courage sickened him.

He spun away from the sight of her, proceeded through the door, and slammed it behind him; thinking he had handled that situation very well.

After he left, Lavanya felt the cold, frigid trail of tears creep down her caramel skin. He had always shown her nothing but hatred and revulsion. Even Sharad had not escaped their father's wrathful, evil ways.

She was twenty-four years old – almost twenty-five, past the age of fanciful thinking and waiting for the perfect man to sweep her off her feet. Men did not come around anymore…she was too much of a liability with her sharp wit and educated thinking; despite her legendary beauty.

It wasn't that she did not want to marry, but what was wrong with a little danger or darkness to keep the journey interesting? She would not hang around India and marry some pasty, lusting aristocrat with no idea of how to treat a woman – in the bedroom or out of it.

She hated feeling trapped or indebted to anyone, especially her father. She sank into the soft, leather couch and hung her head in frustration. She balled her fists, squeezing until the circulation ceased and a tingling sensation rushed through her arms.

This was how Sharad found her. He walked up behind her and placed his hands softly on her shoulders, knowing that she had sensed his presence.

"Come, Lavanya, take a walk with me in the gardens."

She stood, suddenly feeling defeated and worn. Sharad took her hand and led her out of the portico door and down into the garden.

"I needed to speak with you…somewhere father does not have ears."

Lavanya looked up into her brother's warm, black eyes. He was her constant companion; he had been since she had been born. She never felt unsure of herself or unworthy in her brother's eyes – he encouraged her progressive thoughts and strong sense of self.

They sat down on the ornate bench that rested among the aromatic flowers that bloomed in the cool season of Bangalore. They were rugged and strong – enduring the bitterness that could come when the sun when down…much like India herself.

"I have never known a man with such disguised cruelty."

Lavanya's pained whisper made Sharad's insides balk. She deserved to live her dream and pursue the life she wanted, not become some porcelain pawn for their father to bargain with.

"To the others who know him he is the perfect family man; he loved his tortured wife until the her last breath left her body, he dotes on his children and their accomplishments, he is a devout, church going man…"

Her voice trailed off and a spiteful smile, devoid of any humor, crossed her lips.

"…I will not do it, Sharad; I will not marry that snake of a man."

He pulled her to him, encasing her in his strong arms – hoping to shield her from the reality that was quickly reigning down on her.

"If there were a way out….would you take it, and never look back?"

Her head shot up and she searched his face for some evidence of guile or jest; but there was none.

"You are not teasing me, are you?"

"Would you…just answer that for me?"

His voice was dead serious and she knew he had a plan brewing behind those dark, brilliant eyes.

"To escape a marriage to that man – and put a stop to Father's sick plans…" she felt her heart wrench as she said it, "…yes, I would take it – even if it meant leaving India and abandoning all that I love."

Sharad rested his hands on hers and spoke quietly; he did not want to risk anyone getting suspicious.

"Every few words or so, I want you to laugh, as though I have told you a wonderfully amusing story…use every ounce of the actress in you and make it look real."

She understood, they were being watched.

Romir watched them from the portico – detesting their sibling bond. If he had never had children, he would have been a happy man; but Henna had been such a beauty – he had known that he had to have her.

Looking at Lavanya just made him think of Henna and he hated her even more for that. She would soon be Lord Garrison's problem…and the sooner, the better.

He listened to her lilting laughter and it cut through him like a sharp blade. He wouldn't miss that when she was gone – too many painful thoughts accompanied memories of Henna. He wondered what magic words Sharad produced to make her smile like that.

Sharad was aware of his father's hard, piercing stare, but he did not falter in his quest to free Lavanya.

"He is a bit of a scoundrel and has few scruples when it comes to the laws of the sea, but he can be trusted, and the best thing is, he is protected under the flag of France."

Lavanya listened to her brother speak of this man, this privateer, and determined that there was a side to him that she had never seen before.

"His name is Captain Trace Delamater, he will get you to the shores of France; from there I will have ground transportation arranged."

A stricken look crossed her features and Sharad knew what she was thinking.

"I will join you later, I promise – but someone must be here so that a story can be told…one he will believe; it is already in motion…trust me."

"How do you know this man?"

He shrugged his shoulders and then smiled.

"My position in the Maharajah's court has afforded me the opportunity to meet many people – some of them a slight shady and dark, but they are the ones that get the job done."

She chuckled at his words, knowing it was his loyalty to the Maharajah that wore on their father's nerves the most.

"I have no one in France, Sharad, where will I go…what will I do?"

He sighed in relief and squeezed her hands in assurance.

"If you will have him, I have arranged a marriage for you…" her eyes searched his and Sharad almost lost his nerve - but this had to be done "...you have seen him before - many years ago."

Lavanya searched her mind for any recollection...there was a distant memory...

"You were almost eleven when he escaped India…but he was my closest friend for almost ten years. You were only a year old when I was amazed by him – his genius, his skill, the way he killed with such elegant brutality and brilliant proficiency…"

Lavanya was transfixed by the description Sharad was giving her. She remembered a young man that used to walk beside Sharad in the moonlight. The figure has been tall and lean, rippled with defined muscles, and had walked with the saddest grace she had ever seen.

She had never seen his face; a black domino mask covered what she had seen. His voice had permeated the thick darkness and coated her soul with its deep, rich, black silkiness; oh yes, she remembered this man.

"…his name is Erik…and it is to him that I send you."

She gasped in surprise, "Sharad, he was a killer...one of Father's toys..."

Sharad had hoped she wouldn't remember that, but it was apparent that she did. 

"He had no choice – it was his life or theirs…I regret that you know anything about Father's depraved behavior."

Lavanya shook her head, letting him know that she understood that this man, to whom he sent her, was the only way – the only way out.

"How will he know to find me?"

"Trust me, I have covered all angles…you need only board the ship in the wee hours of tomorrow morning. Take nothing with you but the clothes on your back and a small bag with a few necessary items."

"Am I to escape one prison only to be thrust into a different one?"

Her concern was well founded and Sharad could only give her what he knew of Erik.

There was a bitter curtness in her tone – there was no way that Sharad would allow her to reside in a foreign country without the protection of a man's name to ensure her safety.

Sharad shook his head and smiled nervously. Her eyes were pools of murky water and Sharad knew she was angry.

"You know it must be done. All I can tell you is that the Erik I know is an honorable and principled man…what he does, he does because he must."

He embraced her again, trying to calm the fear that he knew was beginning to enter her mind.

"I got him out of India fourteen years ago…he was barely twenty-one when he left. He promised me that if there was ever anything he could do for me, all I had to do was ask and it would be done…the time has come for me to ask."

Hot tears poured down her face. The evil disgusting prison her father had arranged for her was what she had to escape – she would do anything to never be touched or looked upon by that devious monster, Lord Garrison.

Sharad knew her desire to marry out of love, but he also knew that marriages seldom began with love…it usually followed – at least, some of the time. In addition, he knew she wanted children, badly.

She refused his embrace at first; angry for being forced into this position.

"I will do as you ask, Sharad; and I will do what I must…" she dropped her head and thought about her future, "…marry – it is the way things are done."

What could she say of this plan…her brother was getting her out – and she had to sacrifice India and her dreams to make it work. She could not, and would not, be the pawn in a play of power and money that her father had taken on with the English dog to whom he had gambled away her freedom.

"How soon before you can join me?" She asked in a softer tone.

"Several weeks, maybe a few months at the most; but I will find you."

He gave her the pier number and the flower to wear in her hair; Captain Delamater would be waiting for her and she would finally be free.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9 Nothing Short of a Miracle

This chapter has a little bit of R/C loving in it, it is something I rarely write, but I want to establish that Christine really does love Raoul as a husband. Her love for Erik is just as strong, but she loves him as a best friend; something he doesn't quite understand.

The chapters, in case you haven't noticed, alternate between the two different places - and they will until Erik and Lavanya meet; then we will concentrate on their lives - with a few glances into the lives of those around them.

I have so many ideas in mind for this story - it could be quite long; we shall see.

Thanks goes out to my wonderful beta, Mlle.Fox - "You're, quite simply, the best!!"

**DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS**

CHAPTER 9

_December 1875; _ _Paris__, France_

Raoul sat straight, staring pointedly at nothing in particular, as André and Firmin plead their case. Every angle he could think of had been explored; there was nothing to be done about the opera house.

"My family will not keep putting money into this if there is nothing coming out of it; the last couple of years have profited nothing and I cannot make excuses for the losses anymore, I am sorry."

"Perhaps if Madam de Chagny would continue as our diva…"

"My family will not allow it – it does not befit her station; besides, we have just found out that we are going to have a baby."

They all looked around the room, making brief eye contact; but nobody spoke for what seemed like forever.

"Performing is out of the question…" Raoul noticed the scowl he received from Madam Giry and the two managers, "…it is not my decision; it was hers."

Gilles André finally spoke up, after fearing that the answer he would get would bruise his already wounded pride even more.

"She does not care for the quality of material we are using, does she?"

Although it was true, Raoul had no inclination to hurt Gilles – the man had done the best he could do, given the circumstances. In truth, Raoul's oldest brother, Philip, was pressuring him to abandon all ties with the opera house. He had highly disagreed with Raoul's decision to marry Christine – so much so, that it had caused a rift between them.

"No Monsieur André, she is just not happy…she misses…."

Raoul's thoughts wandered to a place he had no desire to go. He knew whom she missed, and it still caused him pain.

He had forgiven Erik long ago…the man had done nothing more than Raoul would have done had the roles been reversed. However, that made it no easier to accept the fact that his wife would always harbor a love for her mysterious and beautiful teacher that Raoul would never understand; nor would he ever be rid of it.

"We have to find another way…my family is not going to keep this up."

Richard walked over to Annette's slight form and took her arm; he led her over to the couch and indicated for her to sit. He sat down beside her, smiling his most charming smile and doing his best to win her heart.

"Annette, you once told me that you know where he is, have you asked him to return?"

She nodded only slightly, answering his question with little doubt.

"Has he responded?"

She dropped her eyes to the floor and twisted her hands together.

"His answer was clear – he does not wish to return. He has begun a new life and it is going well for him."

Raoul sat back in the chair and listened to the exchange of words between the two. He found it rather amusing that Firmin continued to pursue Annette Giry, even though she told him that she was not interested; of course, sometimes her eyes said otherwise.

"But France is his home."

Annette laughed and rolled her eyes at him.

" Richard, France is the latest in a long line of places in which he has spent considerable time."

"So, where does he call home?"

She frowned and looked around the room; each man seemed interested in what she had to say.

"I do not believe he has ever called anywhere 'home'."

Richard moved closer to her, trying to gain a place in her heart. He took her small hand in his and raised it to his lips, causing a twitter in her stomach that Annette had been trying to avoid ever since Richard began his ridiculous pursuit of her.

"You always seemed more interested in the younger girls Monsieur Firmin, why the sudden interest in me?"

Richard had the good manners to look aghast at her observation.

"I think you have me mistaken for my wayward partner."

She raised her brow and pursed her lips at him; her tone was playfully doubtful.

"Really?"

He looked deep into her smoky gray eyes and smiled rakishly.

"You are a handsome woman, Annette; I have never failed to see that."

She did not think it was possible, but she felt a blush color her cheeks and send her heart racing.

If she wasn't careful, Richard Firmin would have her heart…and she wasn't sure she was ready to give it.

♦♣♠♥

**_OPERA POPULAIRE TO CLOSE ITS DOORS FOR GOOD? _**

**_After three years of struggling and not having much luck, the World Famous Opera Populaire may have to close its doors for good. This reporter has it on good authority that the family de Chagny is considering a complete withdrawal of funding, effective immediately. _**

**_The fire of almost four years ago can hardly be blamed for this most recent failure. The damage was minor and the repairs were made rather quickly; the results were as even more beautiful and stately opera house than the first.  
_**

**_What cannot be explained are the sad, uninspired performances that have lately been coming out of the opera house. There is no real talent left among those who remain. Many have moved on, pursuing careers in other countries or opera houses, but there are a few that have stayed. _**

**_Madam Annette Giry and her lovely daughter, Meg Giry, have stayed on with the Populaire; in fact, Meg Giry is the one remaining light amongst the dark cloud of doom that has settled over the Opera Populaire. We have lost Christine Daae to the de Chagny family, and she may never preform again - it is a sad situation for Paris and avid opera attendees.  
_**

**_Where is the Phantom? This never happened when he was here. His obscure sightings kept people coming back for more; and rumor has it, he was actually the composer of most of the opera's, plays, and musical plays that were performed – other than the obvious works of the popular composers. _**

**_I say, along with most of _** **_France_****_, bring him back. We need him if the Opera Populaire is to survive another season. Wherever you are, Phantom, _** **_Paris_****_ needs you – please forgive us, stop all of this foolishness, and come home – or we all lose. _**

**_Stefan Cassius _**

The article sent Christine's mood into the darkness. What were they going to do? They couldn't let the opera house close, it just did not seem right; her angel would not have allowed it.

Her hand rested on her slightly swollen abdomen. The child she and Raoul had created rested safely within her body, shielded from the outer world – if only she could be shielded when it all seemed overwhelming.

"I want you to have the music, my child; the music that moved my soul and filled me with such wonder…"

She spoke quietly to her daughter – at least she hoped it was a daughter – Raoul wanted a son, but a girl would be so wonderful.

"Your father does not understand the hold of the music – but he appreciates it. I had hoped that my angel would be here by now and he would teach you as he did me."

Raoul stood in the doorway and watched her. His heart swelled with the love he harbored for her and his unborn child. There was nothing he wouldn't do for either one of them.

"He may yet come, my love…do not fret."

She heard his voice and turned to him, smiling with a warmth that never ceased to steal his breath.

"Raoul…how did the meeting go?"

The tree outside the window painted dancing shadows on the walls. The snow was beginning to fall, and the wind was whipping through the tree with force. It hadn't been long ago that Christine dreaded winter, but as the Christmas season approached, she found the wonder of it had once again beguiled her.

"They are all upset, as expected. I just wish there was something more that I could do."

"Is there a chance that another patron will come forth?"

Raoul went over to the fireplace and placed the logs strategically in place, then struck a match. He watched the sparks and trickling embers as they began to build and the crackling sound of burning wood filled the room.

"There is no one, Christine…it is just too much of a risk. In order to invest, there would have to be some sign of recovery and the Opera Populaire has done nothing but go down hill – I see no way out – and you know Philip."

It bothered them both. The history of the building was intricately entwined with Paris history and it seemed as though a part of the city was dying with the loss of the Opera Populaire.

Christine walked over to the fireplace and stood beside him. She watched the flames flirt with each other and smiled sadly.

"It is a good thing my father is not alive to see this…he would give his dying breath to save the opera house; nothing would have stopped him."

She quietly walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed; she covered her face with her hands and quietly wept. Raoul went to her, wrapping her in his strong arms. He buried her head in his shoulder and softly moved his hand through her hair.

"What is it, Christine…tell me?"

She did not look at him, but she spoke quietly; pushing the tears away with her fingers.

"Why does everything have to change, Raoul…why can it not stay the same?"

She searched his handsome face for answers, not really expecting him to have them – but finding strength in his familiar hazel eyes and angular features. His warm, tender smile filled her aching heart and she couldn't keep from smiling back at him.

"I want the Opera Populaire and all the history that is linked to it to remain intact…is that asking too much? Every possible angle has been explored and it seems as though we are going to lose the only home I knew for many years."

He gripped her hands in his, massaging the soft skin of her palms with his thumbs. He met her gaze with his and smiled calmly.

"If there is an answer to this problem, I will find it; I promise you."

She smiled at that, lifted her hand and cupped his smooth cheek. He would give anything to keep the love in her eyes – the love she looked through when she looked at him.

"I know you will."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down to lie atop her on the bed. He started to scramble away, thinking he would hurt the baby.

"Oh stop it, we were far more intimate than this before I found out I was pregnant."

He smiled down at her and relaxed. The idea of his child growing within her was the most erotic thing Raoul had ever experienced; and the feel of her beneath him aroused him quickly.

"If being pregnant makes you this frisky, I shall have to get you this way all the time."

She moved her mouth to his ear and wound her tongue around the outer surface, making him tremble with need.

"It is not being pregnant that does this to me, it is you…and we are stopping after we have two children..." her tone was teasing and haughty, "...I have spoken."

Raoul pulled away from her searching tongue and smirked at her.

"Stopping?"

She smiled again, filling Raoul's heart with joy. The ornery look on her face made his loins ache and he knew she was playing with him when she spoke the next words.

"Of course…you shall never touch me again, Raoul de Chagny…"

She pulled him down to her eager lips, and claimed his mouth in a hungry kiss. She moaned against him, wanting more of him against her.

"How long has it been?" She pleaded.

Raoul moved his lips down the soft slope of her neck and grazed his teeth along the racing pulse that signaled her building desire.

He tickled the throbbing pulse with the tip of his tongue and gently passed his palm over the swell of her tender breast. She moaned and pressed her body into his touch, needing everything he could give her.

"Too long." He murmured.

His eager mouth moved down the lacey collar of her sleeping gown and he covered her hardened peak with his mouth, feeling her surge against him in anticipation of what was to come.

Christine felt a surge of desire fill her with a palpable need that she would not ignore. Her body was sensitive in many areas and she felt the need of him so profusely.

She moved her hand down to grasp his engorged flesh and moved rhythmically against him. He reared back and smirked roguishly at her.

"Face it my love, I will be touching you like this until we are old and gray."

Christine unfastened his belt and started on his pants….her hands frantic and impatient. She kissed him with a fierce need and then plunged her hand down inside his pants, finally feeling his warm flesh swell even more with her touch.

"Be quiet and make love to me."

He smiled seductively and lifted the hem of her gown.

"As you wish, my lady." 

TBC


	10. Chapter 10 A Whole New World

Everyone seems to be enjoying this story, which is good, because I am enjoying writing it.

Our Erik is going to be taking a journey of the heart over the course of this story. His ability to trust and accept love and compassion are going to be tried sorely. It will be an interesting story to tell, so bear with me as I try to do it justice.

There are some new aspects that I will try to incorporate into this story that I have never attempted before. I hope you will stick with me throughout my own journey on paper.

God Bless.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 10

_December 1875, _ _Bangalore, __India_

Romir had awakened with a new happiness in his heart. His dreams were about to become reality and he would be rid of his bothersome daughter, both at the same time. Life was wonderful.

However, as he approached his desk, there was an elegantly signed envelope lying in plain sight. It did not look like anything he was familiar with, so Romir thought nothing of it. He broke the seal and examined the written letter encased within.

The handwriting was not unique and was written with great care and attention to detail. Nothing was familiar to him; not the writing, not the type of paper - nothing.

As he read the words, Romir felt the rage build within him and his eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared and he tightened his lips.

**_Romir Keshav, _**

**_As you may or may not have already noticed, I have taken your daughter. I demand nothing but her beauty to warm my bed each night and to grace my lonely days. _**

**_There is no need to search for me; I have left you nothing; no evidence to claim nor a trail to follow. I know your routine and I am well aware of the dark, clandestine secrets that you harbor – secrets that, if revealed in a certain circle to certain people, could prove unmistakably fatal to you and many others. _**

**_I have watched her for two years and I am well acquainted with her loathing of you and your plans for her. I am more than pleased to take her off your hands. _**

**_Remember, you do not know me – but I know you. _**

**_Signed, _**

**_Regrets _**

By mid-afternoon, a thorough search of the entire city had found nothing; Regrets – whoever he was – had been telling the truth; there was nothing – nothing that would lead them to her.

Lord Garrison seemed ultimately relieved, which made Romir even more furious. The man lifted his hairless chin and clicked his tongue annoyingly - making a sound that made Romir wish to pound his fist into his feminine face.

"This nulls any contract, written or otherwise, between us."

With a sweep of his cape and a turn of his hand, Lord Garrison disappeared; leaving Romir with nothing.

Seething and distraught, Romir sat down at his desk and buried his head in his folded arms. His fortune was dwindling and his one chance at renewed funding had gone missing.

"Any word?"

Sharad entered the room, looking disheveled and extremely distressed.

For once, Romir did not look at him with loathing and irritation.

"None…whoever he is, this Regrets has covered his tracks and there is nothing to go on…" his voice lowered to that of a barely audible whisper. "…this will be my ruin…I will never recover."

For a moment, Sharad thought his father was devastated with worry over Lavanya's safety. That illusion was shattered as soon as the next words came out of his mouth.

"The money I was to gain from her marriage to Garrison was going to help me rebuild my dynasty…my lucrative games were going to make a comeback."

Sharad's mouth took on a hard, straight line and his eyes grew as cold as ice.

"Lavanya is gone and all you can think about is your own sick perversions…" Sharad spit at the feet of his father, "...you disgust me!"

"If you miss her so much, you go find her…I have had it with both of you!"

Father faced son and son faced father; the hatred rolled off them like a raging river. The dam that had held for so many years and through so much had finally succumbed; there was no stopping the inevitable devastation.

"Seek whatever penitence you can, father, for you are truly alone now…"

Sharad had come to stand boldly in front of his father with very little between them but a few inches of still air. There was no mercy in his eyes and no compassion in his heart – there was nothing - nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred.

"…I am going to go find Lavanya – even if it kills me….do not look for me or her….ever."

No matter how hard he tried, Romir could find no regrets in his heart – no part of him that wanted to run after his son and stop him from disappearing from his life. All that he managed, as Sharad shrank into the horizon, was a guiltless smile.

Sharad kept up the guise of the ignorant victim for a couple of weeks, searching the surrounding areas for any clues as to where his sister had been taken.

"Sir, there is nothing…we have gone over every possible angle several times and there just is not anything to go on…she is just…" the young soldier seemed nervous with the conclusion he had to give, "…gone."

Sharad squeezed the young man's shoulder and dropped his head in thought.

"Maybe I should expand my search…perhaps it was a foreign abduction…I just do not know."

The young man agreed and offered his services.

"This is too important to risk the abductor finding out that I am searching for him…I must do this on my own."

"May I make a suggestion, sir?"

Sharad looked at the young soldier and shook his head, wanting to hear what he had to say.

"Lady Lavanya was always kind to me and I considered her the most beautiful woman I have ever seen….I know that I am not supposed to interfere, but I saw how your father treated her."

Sharad raised a brow and indicated for the young man to continue.

"I have a brother…a privateer for hire..." his words were whispered, the business his brother was in was very risky and he did not want to put him in danger. "…he will get you where you need to be, if I ask it of him."

This was perfect. Now there was a witness that could state he knew Sharad was on a mission to find his sister…what a stroke of luck.

"Is he in port?"

The soldier nodded and Sharad smiled. This was even better than booking a spot on a ship.

"When does he sail again?"

"In two days time; Thursday morning."

"Arrange it; I will be ready."

A description of the vessel was given and Sharad gathered what few possessions he was taking with him…he would travel light and take care of his needs as he went. Freedom was around the corner…he could taste it.

♠♦♥♣

Lavanya stood on the deck looking over the horizon at the endless ocean between her and France. They had been sailing for three months and she was anxious to set her feet on solid ground.

She had read the letter that Sharad had placed in her things. He had reiterated to her what he had done and she knew he had done what he thought was best - he always did.

_Sweet Sister, _

_It is with a heavy heart that I send you away from _ _India__. I know that we shall see each other again – hopefully – within the next few months; but still, I shall miss you immensely. _

_I know you are a smart woman and will be wise with your words and deeds. Erik will do what I have asked him; in time, I hope you will forgive me. If there had been another way, I would have taken it. Our parting words were bitter sweet for I know you are angry with me. _

_Erik will not limit you nor imprison you. If, by some strange turn of events, he has married or promised in marriage to another, I have asked that he take you as his ward. However, the Erik I know thought himself unworthy of the love of a woman; therefore, I doubt he has married or committed himself to anyone. _

_Be good to him, Lavanya…for my sake. _

_I know that you will do what must be done. I love you, my sister; always remember this. _

_Sharad _

"Contemplating life and all its complexities?"

Captain Delamater had been very accommodating – almost fatherly - in his care of her. He was a large man; towering over her with a commanding gentleness that seemed unusual for a man in his line of work.

"I just want to know what awaits me on the shores of France, that is all…I have never been there and I am feeling very anxious about starting over."

Trace tried not to think about what she could be getting herself into. He had promised her brother that he would see her safely to the shores of France; from there, she was supposed to have someone to take care of her.

"You know, I have a daughter your age…somewhere."

Lavanya frowned and looked at him with big, inquiring eyes.

"I have been married to the sea far too long, my wife could not stay married to a man she never saw…she took Jeanette and left."

Lavanya could hear the regret in the man's voice and see the sorrow etched on his face.

"I am sorry Trace, I really am."

He smiled, but the sadness still touched his eyes.

"If I had been a better man in those days, I would have gone after them…but ambition is an unforgiving mistress."

"Do you ever see your daughter?"

He stared endlessly out at the water before answering.

"I have not seen Jeanette for twelve years – she would be twenty-two now…" his words were quiet and strained. "…but enough of me; who is this Erik you are supposed to meet in France, your fiancé?"

She nodded with an assurance she did not feel within her.

"I was to marry an immoral, cruel man in India – my father had arranged it. My brother got me out, but I must marry a stranger to insure my safety..." her eyes were full of doubt and uncertainty, "…Sharad has promised I will not feel like a prisoner and that he is a good man…"

"But you doubt this."

His words were not questioning or degrading, just curious.

"…I have nothing but previous and personal experience from which to derive my conclusions…men tend to be possessive and controlling…" she smiled at Trace, knowing he had been the same way, "…I will not tolerate either."

Trace lifted a bushy eyebrow and then let out a hearty laugh.

"So you expect your husband to stand in the shadows while you enjoy having other men admire you and be in your company?"

Lavanya had not meant for it to sound like that.

"No, that is not what I mean…I just do not want a major argument on my hands if I find another man attractive and I look at him…I would never touch or be suggestive in any way."

Trace frowned slightly and then looked back over the water.

"This is your culture, more than anything…is it not?"

Lavanya nodded, "Indian women, at least those of the old ways, are taught to enjoy their sexuality and enjoy the power that a woman has over a man – especially with her body. I enjoy men – the way the look, they way they move…if I see one that attracts my eyes, I am certainly going to look"

"I see…so this Lord Garrison…why do you call him depraved?" Trace asked.

She nodded slightly and sighed loudly.

"He enjoys intimacies with men as well as women…" Lavanya shivered in revulsion, "…he disgusts me."

Trace nodded in agreement and looked as much disgusted as she did

"Understandably." He remarked.

"I have no idea what I am getting into – but I have Sharad's word that Erik is a good man and will treat me well."

"You know nothing of this man?"

She shook her head, but managed a smile.

"Sharad has told me some things…" she looked up into Trace's friendly eyes, "…do not get me wrong – I am thankful to be away from Lord Garrison – and in order to prevent him from claiming me, I must marry another."

She stared back over the endless miles of water.

"But I had hoped to fall in love and marry…I suppose a girl can dream…"

He touched his large hand to her shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

"Maybe you will yet find love with this man."

She laid her slim, soft hand over the top of his and smiled.

"Maybe."

"You have not talked a great deal about your situation, I am sorry to have neglected you for the majority of the trip; a captain's work is never done…perhaps you can tell me over dinner."

They turned from the deck and walked back below, sharing a meal in his cabin.

"What will you do in France?"

"Whatever I can…for once, I am free to make my own choices…I only hope he will allow me to pursue my own interests."

"Where did your brother meet him?"

"He was contracted with my father as something like a gladiator – I suppose…" she paused to think for a moment and then shook her head, "…my brother has only told me what he felt I needed to know. Sharad befriended him over time, and eventually helped him to escape from my father's chambers."

Trace furrowed his brow at her words. Unfortunately, he had heard of Lavanya's father and the "games" he promoted. For these reasons, Trace had been more than willing to be called kidnapper – he had been called worse. If this Erik had been a victim of her father's debauchery, he was of a dangerous sort – to say the least; but Sharad obviously trusted him.

"We should make the shores of France in two days, my lady, I shall be sorry to see you go." 

He could see that she had something she wanted to say and he encouraged her words with his expression.

"I can not help but think about your daughter…she was ten when your wife left with her; she would remember you, Trace…" Lavanya arose from her chair and went over to the giant man. He looked her in the eye, even though she was standing and he was sitting. "Please try and find her…I would have given anything to have a father like you."

Lavanya left him with those words, and she could have sworn she saw tears fill his wise, brown eyes.

♦♠♣♥

Trace had called her on deck, as the land they approached became more than just a spot on the horizon. He held the scope up for her to look through and he saw her mouth drop from the view.

"It looks so small through that thing."

He laughed, making her smile at his boyish grin.

"It is not small, by any stretch of the imagination…it is one tiny part of the continent of Europe."

Lavanya grew more and more nervous as the land grew closer. What if he wasn't there…what if he was a horrible man who would keep her imprisoned, just as her father had.

She dismissed that thought, knowing that Sharad would not do that to her. There had to be some redeeming quality about this man named Erik, or Sharad would have never befriended him to begin with. Lavanya only wished she'd had more time to hear what Sharad had said about him.

Sharad had mentioned that he wore a mask to cover a horrible defect he had been born with. He had said that most people, including Erik, considered him ugly.

If they had children together, would they suffer the same affliction? Sharad had said it was a personal hell that caused him a great deal of grief and kept him in a constant state of loneliness.

_If he is a good man, his ugliness will not matter. _

She mulled over that thought and laughed at her own quivering insides. Her nerves were already shot and she wasn't even off the ship.

"He is supposed to meet you in at the train station, is that correct?"

Trace stood beside her, tall and foreboding. He towered over every other man on the ship; and every one of them followed him without question. She did not think she could be with a man that large – he would swallow her.

"Yes, that is correct."

The next few minutes were spent laying anchor and securing the ship. Lavanya went below and gathered what few things she had brought with her.

This was it. She had lived one adventure and was stepping off the ship into a new one. She had spent three months learning about France and its people, now she had arrived.

They docked in Marseilles and from there she would be taking a train to Lyon; from Lyon she bored another train to Paris. The trip had been long but uneventful; even crossing land in Egypt had not been too bad. The captain had had another ship waiting for them in the Mediterranean.

Even though she had not encountered difficulty during her trip, Lavanya hoped to never have to travel that far by ship again…the sea air had been awful on her hair and her complexion.

_I hope he is not expecting a great beauty when he sees me. _She examined her appearance in the mirror. _I do look a fright, but there is not much I can do about it now. _

She allowed a young man from the crew to secure her bag and headed up the stairs toward her new world….she had never been so scared in all her life.

"I am to make sure there is someone here to pick you up; the letter may have taken longer to get here, or may have been lost."

Trace gave her his arm and walked her off the ship and onto dry land. It was 2 March 1876; a good time to start a new life.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11 Finding Erik

Things are going to start slowing down a bit - we have covered almost four years in a few chapters. There are a few chapters left before our lovers meet, so just enjoy the build-up!!

From this point on, you will see a slow change in Erik...as his demons surface...again.

Enjoy!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 11

_February 20, 1876, Paris, France_

It had started snowing about an hour ago; it was coming down in large, lazy flakes that meticulously formed a pure white blanket over everything.

Raoul and Christine had come over to Annette and Meg's to spend the day with them. They had not seen each other since Christmas, and had a great deal of catching up to do.

"We had a quiet Christmas; they have all been that way since Erik left."

Meg looked at her mother with an indiscernible look in her eyes.

"He never spent Christmas with us."

Annette nodded, letting Meg know that she was well aware of that fact.

"I never knew where the intricately carved, hand-painted ornaments that showed up every year came from. They were packaged in the most beautiful boxes and wrapped so perfectly."

Her smile was laced with sadness, but her eyes spoke of an ageless happiness.

"Every year I got a new set of a dozen, with various Nativity scenes and winter scenes."

While Madam spoke, Christine thought back to the Christmas' she had spent with the Giry's. She remembered the look on Annette's face when those ornaments came every year, a few days before Christmas; she loved them very much.

"The wrapping always said that they came from Germany – and I have an aunt that lives there – I assumed she was the one sending them to me.

"Erik never said a word; and he never came to spend Christmas with me. No matter how many times I asked him, he said he was not family and Christmas was for family." She looked up and watched Christine's eyes drift closed in memories. "He was always gone this time of year…off on some trip somewhere. He refused to let me get him a gift, insisting that I use the money for far more important things."

"He made them…did he not?"

Annette nodded her head at the quiet question Meg had asked.

"They stopped coming when he left."

A part of him was in each piece and Annette treasured them like precious jewels.

"I have not mentioned to him that I know my aunt did not send them to me, although he allowed me to believe this."

Christine opened her eyes and wiped a tear – she remembered admiring the ornaments every year – they were exquisite.

"Is it fair…" she paused and pleaded with her eyes, "…for me to be so happy and loved when I left him to a world without love and full of loneliness?"

Annette went to her and gave her a tender hug. When she pulled back from the hug, she cupped Christine's face in her soft hands.

"It is what he wanted for you, Christine; happiness and love – he would have it no other way."

"But…"

"Listen, I was not going to tell you this, but I think you need to know…" Annette smiled at Christine and then turned to address Raoul and Meg also, "…he has been given guardianship of a young girl. She just turned sixteen a few months ago, and her name is Tarrah Sheldon. He has been coaching her voice and training her to be a diva. She made her debut a couple of months ago and Erik said she was magnificent and every seat sold out."

Christine felt a stab of pure jealousy shoot through her. He was teaching another – giving his music to another – she had been replaced. She imagined his intense, beguiling eyes looking at this girl as he used to look at her – the curve of his rare, but staggering smile – and the intoxicating touch of his gloved fingers over her skin.

A stark, rampant, shot of desire went through her and she suddenly felt ashamed. She realized that Erik had awakened her sensual side – shown her that she was a sensual being – but he had never done anything inappropriate toward her; what reason did she have to be jealous?

"She is his ward, is that what you are saying?"

Christine's question was chalked full of surprise and astonishment.

"Yes…she requested him when she stood before the courts. She is an orphan from Ireland and had no one else."

Raoul watched his wife's reaction to this news and noticed her suddenly quiet manner. She was coping with this newest development rather well, but he sensed she felt a twinge of jealousy.

They were interrupted when a loud knock caught them off guard. Madam Giry excused herself from the room to answer the door.

Richard Firmin stood in front of her, looking rakishly handsome and completely awestruck.

"Annette, good day…this just came…" he paused to hand her an envelope, "…for Erik; I thought I should bring it to you."

He smiled when her hand brushed his as she took in from him.

"Will not you come in, Richard…Raoul and Christine are here, as is Meg."

****

Richard took off his hat and stepped inside the spacious apartment.

She sat down beside the window and looked at the envelope. It was to addressed to Erik Lacroix, c/o the Opera Populaire, Paris, France.

"I shall have to contact him."

Raoul stood up and came forward.

"Why do we not just take it to him, it could be very important?"

A light of hope illuminated Annette's eyes and the same light shone in Christine's face.

"Where is he?"

Annette knew she needed their help if Erik was to get this message, whatever it was, in a decent amount of time.

"He is in London."

Richard lifted his brows and dropped his mouth open.

"He is the one…he is the one that made the Italian Opera House so popular."

"Yes."

Richard began pacing the floor as ideas began forming in his head.

"Get him here, by any means possible."

Annette scowled at him and almost swatted his arm.

"Stop it…this does not guarantee that he will come back – we do not know what it is about."

Raoul stepped forward and regained the conversation.

"One of the de Chagny family ships could take us in no time."

Madam Giry smirked at him, "Us?"

Raoul stood his ground, "The ships are my responsibility…I will be going."

"And I go where Maman goes." Meg chimed in.

Christine smiled at her husband and spoke with authority, "Well, I certainly will not be left behind."

Raoul looked from one woman to the next; feeling at quite a disadvantage. He shrugged his shoulders in defeat.

"He will not be happy to see us, especially considering the past...could we leave tomorrow morning?" Annette asked, ignoring her own warnings.

Raoul nodded his head and grabbed his hat and cloak.

"I will make the arrangements"

♣♥♦♠

Annette was almost as giddy as a little schoolgirl with the prospect of seeing Erik again. It had been almost four years – and all she had of him were a few letters.

"How long has he been in England?"

Christine had come up behind her to stand to her right as they looked out over the English Channel.

"From the beginning, it took a couple of weeks to get there, but that is where he has been this entire time."

They stood silently for a few minutes, amazed at the beauty of so much water.

"I was surprised that Raoul offered to bring us…I did not expect that."

Christine smiled slightly and shrugged her thin shoulders.

"He wants to make peace as much as the rest of us. We wronged him...all of us."

"What are you going to say to him, Christine…after all this time?"

Annette had been curious about that for some time. Now, the child had her chance to tell Erik exactly what was going through her mind the night of the fire and why she did what she did.

"How much I have missed him, and that love has many facets." She briefly made eyes contact with Madam Giry, but looked away quickly, "I do love him, I know that, but the love I feel for him is not of the same as what I feel for Raoul."

Annette's lips curved up in a warm, motherly smile.

"Naturally so, he was nothing more than a voice to you for so long; and when he revealed himself as a man, you were shocked. He will always be an ethereal being to you, I understand that and so does he…now."

"He said that?" Christine asked, hopefully.

Annette sighed and gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, "Not in so many words; but the way he said it was far more self-degrading."

Christine nodded, troubled by that knowledge; there were a few, more complicated, things that she needed to tell him; but that would come.

"He is far more public now…from what I hear – Tarrah has been good for him."

Annette noticed the inquiring look that crossed Christine's face; knowing she was thinking about the seriousness of the relationship between Erik and Tarrah.

Annette sensed a jealousy in Christine that she had no right to feel.

"He deserves happiness, Christine…why would you rob him of that?"

She was shocked. Apparently, her thoughts were quite evident.

"I know he does…but seeing him with another woman will seem quite strange…I was always the center of his attention."

Annette scoffed lightly, and then smiled.

"If you ask me, it is about time he let others see who he really is – past the darkness and madness to the man that he was meant to be…I have seen sides of him that no one has ever seen…at least not those in France."

"What do we do if he is not happy to see us?"

"I am trusting that he will be...maybe not Raoul...but the rest of us."

Christine certainly hoped Madam Giry knew what she was talking about.

♦♣♥♠

Crossing the Channel at Calais was going to the shortest route, so they had taken the train to Calais and Raoul had the ship ready to sail. It only took a couple of hours to cross and they docked in Dover.

It was about a two-hour train ride to London and with each passing moment everyone grew more anxious. They were about to see the former Phantom of the Opera – a man that had evoked fear and trembling in each of them at one point, and admiration and respect at another.

So much had changed since that night long ago, when a misunderstanding had cost many unwarranted months of mistrust and loathing. A new day was dawning and the future looked nothing short of interesting.

Annette looked over at Christine, who sat across from her on the train ride between Dover and London.

"My dear, you look very pale…are you alright?"

In truth, her stomach was turning in every direction and she felt dizzy.

"I do not think the baby is fond of travel."

Annette nodded her head and pursed her lips.

"That could be, you should not have made this trip."

Christine had adamantly refused to stay at home. She was determined to see Erik and the healing process.

"I will be fine; perhaps I am just tired."

Raoul had just come from the dining car and sat down. He noticed her pallid color and leaned in to place a kiss on her cheek.

"You knew this would happen; you do not travel well when you are _not_ with child." He teased.

She glared at him when he chuckled at her. He bent down and gave her another kiss and she turned her cheek from him with a bored look on her face – and he chuckled even more.

"You can just march yourself on out of here, Raoul de Chagny…I did not ask for your opinion."

He feigned shock and then smiled, "I love it when you are feisty."

Annette giggled at their flirty bickering.

"We have about thirty more minutes until we are in London, get a little bit of rest."

Christine nodded at Annette, agreeing that she needed to lie down. She stretched out beside Raoul with her head in his lap and drifted asleep – knowing that when she awoke, she would be that much closer to her angel.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12 We Meet Again

Clearly, by certain reviews, this story is not for everyone; and I certainly respect the opinions of all. Do not feel the need to continue to torture yourself by reading - there are plenty of other stories out there, written by much better writers than I am. I hope you find one you enjoy.

My writing is a release for me - of frustrations in various areas of my life, of creativity, and my emotions. I write because I enjoy it. I'm not here to impress anyone or outdo anyone; I simply enjoy it. If anyone has any questions about me, my profile is pretty extensive.

For my regular reviewers, thank you for your support and encouragement; you keep me going. Thank you, also, to my wonderful beta, Mlle.Fox. I do hope that all of you have paid her profile a visit and are taking part in the "award" ceremony that she is planning. I know that I have submitted the names of my favorites, in all categories that pertain to the stories and authors that I have read.

Enjoy my lovelies!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 12

Four shadowed figures sat in the back of the auditorium listening to the orchestra dabble with their instruments and warm up. They had come in just in time to see the conductor slouch over the music stand and bury his head in his hands; muttering incoherently.

He was a tall man, slender but seemed strong in his movements. He was exasperated, but his temper seemed in check. There was something faintly familiar about him.

He _was_ exasperated; there was no other word to describe it. The lead violist was ill and the entire section seemed to rely on that one man to come in on time. They were dreadful without him.

His temper _was_ in check, but he was not sure how long he could keep it so. He seemed to have mellowed over the last four years – maybe a good thing, maybe not – but music was one area where he would not compromise.

"You must count, in your head, and be ready to come in on the third beat of the fifth measure….I clearly direct your entrance…" he was trying to keep his voice down, but his patience was wearing thin. "…there is nothing more I can do other than play it myself; that is, however, not an option!"

The strength and force behind his words carried through the auditorium and those sitting in the shadows immediately took notice. None of them had ever seen him commanding his element; never seen his genius at work. It instilled a sense of wonder and awe in three of the four; the other was feeling slightly intimidated but somewhat awed.

The old hatred Raoul felt for Erik came flooding back into him – if only as an echo, but he felt it burning within his heart. There was nothing to hate anymore, and he knew this; but the man made Raoul envious – which made no sense to him.

The whole section stared at the conductor, dumbfounded. They had no suggestions and they were lost without Charles.

"Let us try it again…watch me this time…_Stuart_…" the second violist quickly lifted his head and smiled grimly, "…watch me closely – the other's will follow you so count and be ready – I will direct your entrance."

Erik lifted his hand and elegantly looped the baton in the air. The clarinets and flutes began their melody with the French horns making their entrance at the appropriate time. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of the music as it coursed through him…his heart and soul came back to him as the melody filled him.

This time, Stuart had counted correctly and the violins came in on time. Erik smiled, with his eyes still closed, and did not miss one beat. He knew each intricate nuance of the music and by the end of the song – he felt justified in his demands.

"That was superb…" he bowed his head toward Stuart, thanking him for doing it correctly. "…excellent job Stuart."

"Now, we will go on to the love aria for Silvia and Yerik….Tarrah…" Erik called, knowing she wasn't far off.

She came immediately, having heard the last song and knowing that her session was up next.

"Yes?"

"We are going to practice the love ballad. Where is Jacob?"

The young male lead ran out on stage and took his place as they both prepared to sing.

Erik took a few moments to set the stage…

"Remember, they have just confessed their love…although it is a secret love. They cannot risk being discovered for he is a lowly Russian military man and she is an English lady – promised to a baron on her eighteenth birthday.

"The prospect of marriage to the English baron is causing Silvia to despair and she must declare her love for Yerik – if only to herself – knowing that their love is doomed.

"They share one night of forbidden passion – neither one of them willing to fight their love." He stops for a minute to picture the scene in his head, "The morning after, they decide to throw caution to the wind and leave together – starting a new life elsewhere – away from the demands of their separate lives.

"They are captured and Yerik is imprisoned and that is where we pick up…Silvia is singing to him from outside his cell and he answers her from inside."

Neither Erik nor Tarrah were aware of the four people that had made their way into the opera house and sat down in the back row.

Tarrah heard the beginning notes and closed her eyes.

_"A time for us, some day there'll be…  
when chains are torn by courage born of a love that's free.  
A time when dreams so long denied can flourish…  
as we unveil the love we now must hide.  
_  
_A time for us, at last to see…  
a life worthwhile for you and me" _

Tarrah's voice filled the auditorium and the purity of it drew tears to the eyes of all that listened. Christine knew this girl was everything Erik had wanted her to be; but she had thrown it back in his face.

Jacob followed with his part – a flowing baritone filled with his youth and vigor.

_"And with our love, through tears and thorns…  
we will endure as we pass surely through every storm.  
A time for us, some day there'll be a new world…  
a world of shining hope for you and me…_

_for you and me"_

Their voices joined and the sound was that of pure beauty.

"_And with our love, through tears and thorns…  
we will endure as we pass surely through every storm.  
A time for us, some day there'll be a new world…  
a world of shining hope for you and me._

_A world of shining hope for you and me." _

"A Time for Us", from the musical, "Romeo and Juliet"

Words by Larry Kusik and Eddie Snyder and Music by Nino Rota

The music ended and the auditorium went deathly still…but Erik's expert hearing centered on a quiet weeping coming from the back of the theater.

He dismissed it, thinking it was probably Hammond's wife and two daughters – they were always sneaking in and watching the practices. The girls were twelve and fourteen, and fancied themselves as future performers.

"That was well done, thank you." Erik complimented, "Jacob, on the last line that the two of sing together, your voice is a bit overbearing…soften your tone just a bit."

The young man nodded and smiled shyly at Tarrah. He was nineteen and thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

"Thank you, Monsieur Lacroix, I will work on that."

Erik raised his brow and watched the young man slowly leave the stage, stumbling over various props and other things; his eyes never leaving Tarrah.

In the darkened seats, those listening felt the sadness of the lyrics and the haunting music; the sweeping melancholy of the romance was breathtaking, and Annette wondered how a man who had never known romantic love could understand it so perfectly.

Now, that they sat just mere feet from him - none of them wanted to approach him. He was not the same man in many ways, but the commanding aura he had always possessed still surrounded him; and he still elicited the tiniest glimmer of fear within their hearts; not because of who had been, but because of who he was; an unheralded genius whose work surpassed almost every other piece of work out there.

Finally, Raoul stood up and began the descent down the aisle and toward the stage. Annette followed him and they moved purposefully, but slowly.

Erik was completely unaware of their slow approach and had forgotten about there being anyone listening to them.

"That boy cannot keep his eyes off you."

Erik's tone was teasing; and he wore an ornery smirk as he stared at Tarrah. He knew the young tenor was interested in courting her; however, she was only seventeen – almost eighteen – and Erik would not think about that fact.

"Jacob…" she wrinkled her nose and shrugged her shoulders, "…he is sweet, but he is entirely too…" she closed her eyes in thought, "…normal for me."

Her face was wistful and she held her finger against her lip in thought.

Erik breathed deeply, closed his eyes in contemplation, and decided to continue with his interrogation.

"Normal…that is what I would want for you, Tarrah, normalcy; explain what you mean?"

She shrugged her shoulders while he picked up music and straightened up the stage area.

Raoul and Annette had stopped, enjoying the verbal teasing that Erik and Tarrah were sharing. They still were not visible, standing just inside the shadow.

"I dan't know….I really enjoy people that have a story to tell…whose lives have not been one perfect moment after another."

She walked up to Erik and wrapped her arms around his waist in an act of affection. He bolted upright and stiffened beneath her touch, but she did not relent.

He did not yield his stiffness, but did pat her on the back with a familiar, fatherly touch. The young girl didn't seem to notice his stern stance, but basked in his secure presence.

"Does this mean that you are going to break that boy's heart in search of some abnormal young man with a story to tell…you live with one of those every day of your life; well, maybe not young – but definitely abnormal?"

His tone was scolding, but Tarrah knew that he didn't think he had any redeeming qualities.

"Are there any more men like ye out there…younger, but just as fascinating?"

Erik couldn't stop the laugh that he let out; he seldom gave into that strange sensation – but Tarrah had a way of bringing it out of him. She was a spirited young woman with a sharp mind and a cunning wit. She knew what she wanted and, more often than not, got it.

"You are hopeless…you certainly do not need someone like me." He let her go and resumed his previous activity. He talked while he tidied up, "Not long ago, I would have given anything to be normal; to have a normal, beautiful wife and a brood of sickeningly normal kids to share my boringly normal life."

Tarrah turned in time to see him drop his head and face the cold, hard truth that he was sure would be the summation of his life.

"That will never be…so, I have made it my quest to make sure that you do not spend the rest of your days with anything less then your personal prince charming."

It was at this time that he noticed the shadowed figures standing just outside his line of vision. The lighting was poor, and Erik couldn't make out any features; but there was something vaguely familiar about them.

"Excuse me…the opera is closed to visitors at this time."

There was no immediate response, and suspicion was settling in.

His alert eyes widened at the four people that emerged from the shadows and climbed up the stairs toward him.

He braced his feet firmly and felt the power surge through him, expecting trouble. A young man approached him warily – a man who had been a boy when he had last seen him.

His animal-like reflexes were poised for the fight, if it came to that; and he could hear his heart beating frantically within his chest. He remained calm in the face of those who had had betrayed him and left him for dead - except Madam Giry, of course.

_Is this it? Have they finally come to their senses and decided to rid the world of my hideous existence? _

He almost wanted to laugh at the poetic justice of it all – he was finally finding a place to call home…a place he could at least attempt to be a man and not a monster. However, as he had known for his entire life, he was unworthy of such things and fate had come to collect on the debt he owed for having four years of semi-contentedness.

His alert gaze moved from the young nobleman to a face he had thought, and hoped, never to see again.

He didn't linger on _her_, not wanting to give the impression he still desired her; because he did not – from that, at least, he was free.

"Annette?"

She moved forward, taking the lead where the others dared not go. He continued to stand still and erect – not understanding why she had brought them to him; he felt betrayed and exposed.

"Why…why did you bring them here?"

The dark fury in his quietly threatening tone would have made most people tremble in his presence; but this woman knew him.

"I trusted you with my location…I now regret having given that trust."

The green in his eyes burrowed into the warm gray of hers – and she could not hold his gaze.

"You need not regret anything; Erik…we come in peace."

Her tone was motherly, but he refused to be duped into thinking that the de Chagny's were here on a peaceful mission.

He had almost forgotten about Tarrah. She stood just to the right of him with a curious and inquiring look on her face. She could see his visible trembling – but she knew he felt no fear, only anger and betrayal.

He turned to her and she smiled at him, hoping to lend him her support. She could tell the visitors distressed him; and the accents were French – so she assumed they must be from his past.

"Tarrah, these people are past acquaintances of mine."

Tarrah lifted her blue eyes to look into the faces of those who had once caused Erik a great deal of pain and heartache. Although the young couple seemed tense around him, the woman raked her eyes over Erik's form with admiration – or was it desire?

"This is Tarrah Sheldon, my ward."

Annette moved to stand in front of Raoul and spoke quietly to the young diva.

"Tarrah, Erik has told me so much about you…I am honored to finally meet you...I am Annette Giry."

Tarrah curtsied and bowed her head slightly.

"I am afraid ye have me at a disadvantage…he has told me very little about ye."

Annette smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"Self-preservation…" Annette met his dark, hard gaze, "…understood."

He nodded slightly, in acceptance of her words.

"You do not seem to be here to have me arrested or beaten..."

His gaze narrowed as Christine emphatically shook her head at his words. Without lowering his eyes or changing his voice, he spoke directly to her.

"…so why are you here?"

Her voice was stuck in her throat as his deep, clear eyes bore into her soul.

"There is a letter…" Annette began, breaking the quiet of the moment, "…I do not wish to get into this right now, Erik…is there a place where we can talk – maybe have some tea?"

He stared down at her – across the bridge of his perfectly sloped nose. He finally smirked in acceptance and turned to his ward.

"Tarrah, could you show Annette and her guests to our home, I will be along shortly."

He quietly made his way to the front of the theater and saw that Beckett had parked the carriage on the street; waiting for them.

Erik turned to Tarrah and took her hands in his. His tone was that of a father, "I will follow in a little while…I need to walk and clear my head."

Tarrah nodded and kissed him on the cheek; unaware of dark brown eyes watching every move she made.

Erik watched everyone climb into the carriage and then gave instructions to Beckett. The carriage jolted to a start and he watched it roll away with a troubled brow…this was going to be an interesting evening. Every instinct he possessed was screaming for him to run and never look back, but his sense of purpose and decency demanded that he stay and face whatever was coming.

He had always been a decent man with a purpose.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13 What's Asked of Me

Brooding, reflective Erik...my goodness, how we love him! 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 13

Tarrah stared out the small window of the carriage at the night sky. She loved the night – with its cool blanket of black velvet and the clear sound of the crickets as they played a symphony fit for a king.

"You are the ward he was given guardianship over a couple of years ago, is that correct?"

Tarrah turned her head to look at the one called Annette – she still wasn't sure she trusted her; and the younger one…the way she looked at Erik; there had been something there at one time - maybe there still was. She actually liked the one called Meg; she seemed like a kindred spirit.

The man seemed handsome enough – to pretty boy for her taste – but handsome enough; and he was devoted to the brown haired, skinny woman…the one that looked at Erik with something akin to desire.

"Yes, I am." She finally answered, after a few moments.

"He seems to have…" she searched for the proper word, "…blossomed after meeting you. The tone of his letters softened and he seemed less critical of himself and the world. I think you are good for him"

Tarrah finally lifted her lips in a smile, making the older woman relax slightly.

"He still refuses t'engage in formal gatherin's or public appearances – other than takin' a bow at the end of a production…but he is gettin' better."

Annette nodded and continued to watch this young girl as she talked about Erik.

"He saved me…lit'rally. Without him, I'd prob'ly be a prostitute by now, or worse."

Christine lifted her eyes from the floor and watched the young woman. She was a pretty thing, soft figured and kind-hearted. Her voice had touched a nerve in Christine….a nerve that sparked a jealous ember within her.

"I owe him ev'rythin'….and I will follow him anywhere."

"Christine was his student for many years, before she married Raoul." Annette offered, noting the pinched look on Christine's face.

Tarrah watched the other woman's eyes narrow slightly as their gazes met.

It was obvious to Tarrah that woman was jealous - of what, she did not know. Tarrah loved Erik, that was obvious, but he was like a father to her. She began to wonder if this woman had the same feelings toward Erik that she did.

That thought made Tarrah smile and giggle aloud. She quickly checked herself and graced Christine with a kind look.

"Was he as stubborn and unyieldin' with ye as he is with me?"

Christine nodded at the question and then smiled. She was going to find it difficult to like this girl…very difficult; but for Erik's sake, she would try.

"He is so brilliant, sometimes I think he found it hard to communicate on a level that I would understand – his music is so...achingly beautiful."

Christine whispered the words and then looked away. She had betrayed the gift he had given her and turned her back on him…she wondered if they would be able to move past that.

The carriage halted in front of a large, two story house.

Tarrah waited for Beckett to open the carriage door and then preceded everyone from the carriage.

"This is your home?"

Annette was stunned. The house was quite large and looked extremely well-maintained. The large, surrounding yard was beautifully landscaped and manicured.

"Yes, Erik maintains the grounds and Blanche and I maintain the house. Blanche is our housekeeper; she lives here with us and does some o' the cookin'."

She opened the front door and waited until everyone had stepped inside.

"Erik and I take turns doin' the rest o' the cookin'."

Annette looked rather stunned at that news; as did Christine. They shared a wide-eyes gaze and then Raoul cleared his throat.

"Why does he not hire a full staff; I am certain he could afford it."

Tarrah frowned and then scowled at him.

"Erik cherishes his privacy and does not require a large staff…he does most o' the work himself."

They took a full tour of the house – impressed by the large number of ornately decorated, well-furnished rooms. The first floor contained the parlor, sitting room, dining room, kitchen, a lavatory, and a large entrance foyer.

The second floor contained four, very large bedrooms – each with their own lavatory, an extensively stocked library and a study.

Tarrah stood at the second floor stairway that led to the third floor.

"The third floor is Erik's; his sleepin' quarters, study, and music room." She glanced longingly up the stairs. "No one but him is allowed up there."

She gave one last look to the third floor and led them in the other direction.

♥♣♦♠

_This is it, Erik, they have all come back into your life – for some unknown reason – and they expect something of you. _

His mind was racing in so many directions, that it took a conscious effort for him to concentrate on just one angle of thinking.

_Why now? _

He passed by a couple holding hands, and tipped his hat, as any gentleman would do. He watched them pass and felt a stirring in his heart. There had been a few times in the past four years that he had longed for companionship different from that which Tarrah provided.

_Rubbish! You are such a fool! How many times, Erik, how many times are you going to long for something you cannot have? Be happy that you have a friend in Tarrah – she is as close to having a daughter as you will ever be. _

He had realized long ago that he had never really loved Christine – he was not even sure he was capable such an elevated and divine emotion - he had loved the _idea_ of loving Christine. Putting someone above himself – their wants, their needs, their wishes, their health and well-being, everything…it somehow had made him feel human.

There were few times in his almost thirty-five years that he had felt human. Most had made it their business to make him feel less than such; his father, the gypsy king and much of the camp, everyone but Sharad in India, all but Annette at the opera house – human was not a familiar place for him.

_Can I forgive them for what they did to me? _

He had wondered that same thing and asked that same question several times in the last four years.

The truth was, there was nothing to forgive. He had pressured them into acting as they did; Annette was certain he had lost what little sanity he had possessed at the time, Christine had been nothing more than a child in a woman's body – he knew that now; he had frightened her beyond reason; and, Raoul – valiant, strong, courageous, handsome – he embodied everything Erik would never be. Instead of feeling envious and angry toward the young man, Erik would make a bold effort to turn his jealousy into admiration.

_I do remember a few of the lessons my mother taught me…_ he thought, _…find the good in people and focus on it; never let the sun go down on your anger; you can never have too many friends, but one enemy is all that is needed to destroy you. _

He walked, for what seemed like only a few minutes, but he had settled a few things in his heart and mind. He would never be anyone's husband or father, but he had proved to himself that he could be a friend to someone – and that lightened his heart – if only a little bit.

His home stared back at him, the beauty of it smiling down. He prayed he could keep his promise to himself and be a friend to his past...kill it with kindness, so to speak. Only time would tell.

♥♦♣♠

The house had indoor plumbing and the most modern facilities that money could buy; things that many people had never seen in their lifetime.

They ended up back in the parlor, and stood around the fireplace; admiring its carved, stone columns and intricate beauty.

Annette broke the silence with a question that had been plaguing her – more and more – as they looked at the lovely house.

"How on earth does he manage to maintain the level of work he does at the opera house and still keep this house looking as it does?"

"You know me…"

Everyone spun around at the silky, deep sound of his voice as it caressed the air in the room with a soft, sensual timbre.

"…I do not sleep much and I have nothing better to do."

He walked through the door, hung up his hat and cloak, and then moved across the floor to stand among them.

The fresh smell of the outdoors still lingered on his clothing and filled the area. He looked stunning and pragmatic before them as he moved toward the sitting room.

A portly, pleasant looking woman in her mid-fifties came bustling through the large door to the Erik's right.

"Blanche…" he spoke, softly and evenly.

"Yes sir?"

Erik rolled his eyes and flashed a roguish smirk at her.

"Just because we have company does not mean you have to call me 'sir'."

She smiled and dropped her eyes.

"Now, would you please bring some tea?"

She nodded and left to do as he asked.

Erik moved his gaze from Blanche to Tarrah.

"You have an hour and half left, then it is bedtime for young ladies who must arise early for their studies and music lessons."

She started to protest, but he was already ahead of her.

"You are not eighteen yet…so do not press the boundaries."

She gave a slight curtsy and smiled coyly at him…she actually enjoyed learning from Erik. He taught her arithmetic, reading, history, science, and the arts…he had taught her to read and speak in French and was starting her on Italian this week.

Erik was uneasy and tense, but he would do his best to manage his racing mind and crumbling nerves. He had changed – not completely – but he had; and he wanted them to see that.

"Please, everyone sit down."

Now that he was in front of her – out of the dull, shadowed lighting of the opera house – Christine saw that Erik had changed very little in his physical appearance; he dressed impeccably, and the white mask still covered a third of his face. His eyes were still an arresting shade of turquoise green with gold specks that surrounded his iris.

His hair was the obvious part of him that had changed. In Paris, he had worn it flat against his head, never allowing it to get out of place – if he could help it. Now, he wore it loose and longer. The ebony locks surrounded his face and made him look even more dramatically handsome than she remembered. There was no aging present on his face, but there was a dusting of gray hair at his temples, as though a painters brush had strayed off the canvas and lightly touched his hair.

She also realized he was still lean and muscular – and where he had once been pale from not being outdoors, he was now lightly bronzed from the kiss of the sun. She determined that he looked very good…very good indeed. She frowned when she realized she had never told him how handsome he was.

"So, what has brought all of you to London?"

He asked the question lightly, but his brow still creased with concern.

Annette reached inside her satchel and found the letter; she handed it to him and watched a smile form on his full lips. She liked that smile – although she had seldom seen it.

"This is the reason…you could have sent this by currier."

Annette smirked and shrugged her shoulders.

"Then I would not have had an excuse to find you."

He chuckled lightly, and it warmed the hearts of every woman in the room; Raoul sat stiffly and ready to spring out of his seat at any moment.

"And I suppose you are going to tell me that it took all four of you to bring it to me?"

They all exchanged looks, but it was Raoul who finally spoke. He had avoided eye contact with the former Phantom, but this meeting had been nothing like what he had expected. There was a quiet to the man now, something that had been missing before; he seemed to have come to some sort of terms with himself.

"I volunteered to bring her…and Christine refused to stay at the châteaux once she knew we were coming to see you." He looked at his wife and smiled, and then he looked at Meg. "Meg will not let her mother out of her sight."

Erik nodded and looked at the boy – seeing, perhaps for the first time, a young man and not an annoying teen-ager. Erik realized that he had probably grown as much as Raoul had in the last four years.

He remembered the letter, sat down on the settee, and opened it.

"It is from my dear friend, Sharad Keshav. He is in India…it has been about five years since we last wrote each other."

He lowered his head and began to read.

_December 16, 1875_

_Erik, _

_It has been a long time since I last wrote you; I do apologize for that. My father was getting suspicious of the incoming mail and I had to cease writing. _

_I am sending you a package – of sorts; something very dear to me will be leaving _ _India__'s shores in a few days and finding its way to you. _

_Do not falter when you read the next few lines; I hold you to the promise you made to me fourteen years ago. I know you remember it. _

_My father's wickedness has destroyed this family, Erik. I knew that it would. He murdered my mother, just as surely as he would have murdered you – had I not gotten you out of _ _India_

_Lavanya, my little sister; you may not remember her – I am not sure you even met her; anyway, father made a deal with an English lord for her hand in marriage. This lord is a weasel and has abnormal desires – I hope I do not have to elaborate. He was to get Lavanya and father would have an endless supply of capital to use for his "games". _

_I could not allow this to happen. Lavanya was sickened by the thought of this man and she agreed to do whatever needed to be done to escape this fate worse than death. _

_I am sending her to you, my friend. It is with the understanding that you are to wed her – _as he read that line, Erik's heart stopped beating and he broke into a cold sweat; this had to be some sort of hoax. He continued to read, _unless you are already wed or promised to another – in which case, I ask that you take her as your ward. _

_I cannot have her in a foreign land without the protection of a man – and you are the only man I trust; I know you will do what you must. _

_She is to arrive in Marseille on _ _2 March, 1876__ on the ship of a privateer named Captain Trace Delamater; he sails for the flag of _ _France__. The name of the ship is "Château Des Regrets." _( Castle of Regrets)

_I hope to follow in a few weeks, so we may see each other again soon, my brother; and I call you this, because you will truly be my brother when you wed Lavanaya._

_Until then, thank you – and take care of my treasured sister. _

_Sharad Keshav _

A dread, like nothing he had ever felt, filled Erik's insides, and he became physically ill. He felt clammy and a sweat had formed on his forehead. If he stood, he was certain he would pass out from the nausea.

Annette had been watching his features as he read, and knew that the letter contained disturbing news – news that Erik was having a hard time processing.

She stood and walked over to his morose form. He raised the letter to her and she took it - scanning the content quickly and then joining him on the settee. Her hand was to her breast and she breathed heavily.

"Erik…what are you going to do?"

He lowered his head into his hands and quietly felt his world collapsing beneath him. Every promise he had made to himself and every piece of his patchwork heart went head first into the abyss of his darkness.

The others that watched the exchange were curious about what had them both in such a quandary. Tarrah, especially, was very concerned.

After four years of struggling to move on, Erik felt the past bombard him like pellets of ice. He did not blame Sharad, the man was doing what he had to do to protect his sister; and Erik _had_ made the promise fourteen years ago to be there should Sharad need him.

The time had come for payback. Erik thought about what Sharad expected of him. There was no way that Erik would marry this girl. He would be more than happy to become her guardian, but he would not inflict himself upon her as a husband...how utterly absurd to think she would agree to such a thing.

However, the promise loomed over him, and Sharad would have certainly explained everything to his sister before sending her here; of that, Erik was certain.

"I will do what I promised – no matter the cost." He looked into the concerned eyes of Tarrah and smiled. "I must go back to France for a time; I don't know how long this will take."

"But the production…"

" Hammond can handle it…he has those who can help him…you may stay if you desire."

She clung to him with a death grip and shook her head emphatically.

"I think not, I go where ye go."

He patted her hand and tried to smile.

"I will talk to Hammond tomorrow – I do not know when we shall return..." he looked her deep in the eyes and spoke seriously, "It would seem that I am to acquire another ward within a few days."

Tarrah smiled joyfully at the prospect; she couldn't wait to have another girl to converse with; but she noticed Erik's troubled look. He seemed entrapped once again, by the persona of the Phantom – it was as though nothing had changed in four years.

She looked down at the letter, which had been discarded onto the table. She picked it up and scanned the contents. Erik was busy talking to Annette and hadn't noticed that she picked it up.

"This letter clearly states that ye are ta marry this girl, Erik; only if ye are wed or promised ta another are ye to make her yer ward."

Erik drew his breath in slowly and exhaled in the same manner. His broad shoulders faced her and she could see the stiff resolve with which he held himself. He turned, and fixed his eyes on Tarrah; daring her to say something else.

She started to smile and lighten the moment, but Erik silenced her with a cold stare and a lift of his brow.

"Do not say it; Tarrah…nothing good can come of forcing a woman to wed the likes of me." He passed his eyes over Christine and then looked at Raoul.

His tone was critical and his face held a sternness that he had never used on her. She cocked her chin up and stared at him with determined obstinacy.

"What is wrong with ye…ye've not acted like this for ages?" She glowered sternly, not willing to give at all. "Ye're past this Erik…just because yer carefully construed life is being interrupted - an' by a woman, no less…"

Erik stiffened, once again, and threw her a warning glare. However, Tarrah had learned long ago that Erik appreciated honesty and strength in a woman and she would give him just that.

"Not here, Tarrah, this is neither the time nor the place to discuss such things."

She ignored his caustic warning and marched up to him with fiery darts in her eyes. She jabbed her index finger into this hard chest and forced him to listen to her.

"Then when is a good time, Erik…hmmm…" he looked away, avoiding eye contact, "…ye avoid people – women in particular…" his eyes closed and he swallowed deeply "…ye lock yerself away with yer head buried in sheets of music for hours on end…"

Christine watched the exchange between them with saucer eyes and a dropped jaw. She would have never thought to talk to him in such a manner; but then, she had always seen him as some celestial being with no earthly baring – even after finding him to be a man – he was on a higher plain.

"…ye have a chance to finally have a woman in yer life…a wife; who cares if neither o' ye have a choice – it is the way of the world."

Erik released the hold he had on his shoulders and he suddenly felt very exhausted. He slinked down into the large chair and stared into the fire.

For that moment, everyone in the room disappeared except Erik and Tarrah. She made her way toward him and knelt down in front of him as he leaned forward with his head in his hands.

"Erik, why do ye do this to yerself?"

He didn't answer, not at first; he sat as still as a statue for what seemed like hours. His voice, when he finally spoke, was broken and distant.

"I stay away, Tarrah, because…" he lifted his beautiful eyes and Tarrah could see the orange flames of the fire dancing in the green of his gaze, "…I cannot risk it…loving again…it would kill me."

Christine and Raoul shared a glance, as did Meg and Annette. They were seeing the Erik that he never let show – the Erik that was scared of dying alone and having no one to make and share life's precious moments with - the side he wanted no one to know existed; the side that humanized him.

"I may be young and inexperienced, but luv is a beautiful thing, Erik…two people sharin' their lives together – enjoyin' one another…"

He scoffed softly and turned his head from her, giving her his masked profile.

"Sure, love can be a beautiful thing – I have witnessed it…" his chin dropped and his eyes closed, "…but to love, Tarrah – and not be loved back…" he shook his head as he caressed her cheek with his leather-clad hand, "…one-sided love affairs are lonely and degrading things."

He finally stood and pushed the tension from the air with sheer determination. He remembered that they were not alone and that his guests had heard the entire exchange.

He bowed his head in an apology, "None of you should have had to hear that, I apologize." He turned to Tarrah and drew her to him, "Tarrah will show you to your rooms, as I am sure you are all as exhausted as I am – if not more so."

He dismissed them with a quiet exit and they were left staring at his broad back as he walked out. Tarrah watched them watch him and knew that the older woman and the skinny woman had deep feelings for him – the man and Meg were harder to read.

"Come with me."

She led Christine and Raoul to the first upstairs bedroom. The doors opened to reveal a lavishly decorated room, with black and lavender décor. The windows were ornate and large and the view was extraordinary, with the light of the moon casting a perfect, lavender beam down upon the gardens.

The large bed was expensively dressed with six pillows and a canopy. Christine was immediately in love with the room and its dark plushness.

"This is luvingly referred to as the 'moon room', enjoy yer rest."

Tarrah closed the door behind her and smiled at Annette and Meg; leading them down the hall to the third room.

This room was of a much cheerier décor. The walls were a soft gray and the accents were peach. There were two beds, each large and dressed with two pillows each. There were small, hand-painted, porcelain statues placed around the room and Annette picked one up and held it lovingly in her hands.

It depicted a scene from the opera, "Don Giovanni"; each character was meticulously and expertly carved and painted – creating a life-like, miniature version of the people Erik had watched perform the opera so long ago.

"In his spare time, he luvs to sculpt and paint…I have never seen a man with so much talent."

Annette nodded at Tarrah's words, and gently placed the statue back in its place. A tear was sliding down her cheek at the simple beauty of each piece in the room.

"He has sold many o' his sculptures and even more o' his paintin's."

Tarrah had just gotten the words out, when they heard someone clear their throat. They turned to see Raoul and Christine standing in the doorway, looking at the décor. They walked reverently into the room and visually adored the beauty of it.

"He must be worth a fortune."

Raoul whispered, remembering the elaborate beauty of each room and the house itself.

"Indeed he is…and he enjoys havin' beautiful things around him."

Everyone female in the room nodded their head – they understood.

"I bid all o' ye good-night, if he knew I was still up, he'd be givin' that look that I 'ate so much."

Tarrah left, Raoul and Christine followed, and the house was quiet for the night.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14 The Winds of Change

Gerry's on "The Tonight Show with Jay Leno" Tuesday night, don't miss it!! If you haven't seen "300", and are a Gerry fan in particular, I recommend that you do; his performance will blow you away! The rest of the movie is awesome also!!

Enjoy, my lovelies!!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 14 

Erik paced the floor in his room, dreading the thoughts that entered his mind. Why would Sharad ask this of him?

_He knows I am a disaster…he of all people knows how damaged I am. _

There were things about him that Annette did not know – dark, buried truths that were better left in the past. Sharad knew almost all of his secrets; and for some unexplained reason, had sent his baby sister to Erik for safekeeping - and not just safekeeping – but as a wife.

His mind was racing and his fingers longed to caress the inviting keys of the grand piano, which called to him from the other side of the door.

_It is so late; I do not wish to disturb the whole house with my demons. _

His thoughts did not deter him, and he found himself sitting at the piano, flirting across the keys with expert gentleness, and closing his eyes to the exquisite calmness that settled within him.

He journeyed to a place where he could be honest with himself – a place deep within him that no other could invade.

It was strange how he could feel so alone in a house full of people. Even Tarrah could not ward off the despair that sometimes pulled him down to new depths of reality. He may have lived among the human race for the last four years, but he still felt very much detached from them.

They accepted him, there was no doubt about that; but Erik wasn't a fool; he knew that if he did not give them something with his music and talents, then they would lock him away with all the others that they deemed as freaks.

And being locked away was something he would never allow to happen – never again. His life would end at his own hands if that were to be his fate. He was a man alone – and it would always be that way.

The words began to flow from him as easily as the music did…

_"In me, you see a man alone…  
held by the habit of being on his own.  
A man who listens to the trembling of the trees…  
with sentimental ease._

_"In me, you see a man alone…  
behind the wall he's learned to call his home.  
A man who still goes walking in the rain…  
expecting love again_.

_"A man not lonely except when the dark comes on…  
a man learning to live with mem'ries of _ _midnights__ that fell apart at dawn.  
_  
_In me, you see a man alone  
drinking up Sundays and spending them alone.  
A man who knows love is seldom what it seems…  
only other people's dreams"  
_  
Erik sang the song with deep, dark tones that matched the mood of his soul and filled his nights. He soothed the loneliness with the tones of the piano and the caress of the cool ivory against the pads of his fingers. This was his life.

The music didn't care that he was ugly, inside and out; the cool ivory keys didn't care that he was a hideous monster – they never recoiled from his bare skin; and the melodious beauty of his voice never betrayed him.

_"A man learning to live with memories of _ _midnights__ that fell apart at dawn._

In me, you see a man alone…  
drinking up Sundays and spending them alone.  
A man who knows love is seldom what it seems…  
just other people's dreams." 

_A Man Alone_, by R. Mckuen, recorded by Frank Sinatra

Below him, in rooms that he had designed with beauty and life – two things he felt he did not have – wept two women.

One wept because she hoped he had moved past the rampant loneliness of his earlier years and found a semblance of peace in his new life; but she realized he did not have the means to do so.

The other wept because she knew she had done nothing to ease, and everything to increase, the mournful agony in which he always seemed to find himself; the pain which was a constant companion to the darkness he called home.

They both wept because the beauty of his voice and the haunting music had been missing in their lives for four years – and neither of them wanted to part with it again.

The music halted and quiet filled the house once again. Christine rested her head upon her pillow, turning from the sleeping form of her husband, to weep silently in the dark; finally drifting to sleep some time later.

Annette pulled on her night robe and quietly walked to the small chair that sat in front of the window. For the next hour, she stared out the window into the night's serene beauty. She thought about the second chance she now had to help Erik begin anew…and this marriage could very well be the start of something wonderful for him.

♥♦♠♣

Everyone finally stirred the following morning; they made their way to the bottom floor and the smell of something delicious. Erik was in the kitchen fixing breakfast when they all emerged at one time.

Christine, although still rather shy around him, approached his tall figure and placed a warm hand upon his arm.

He flinched from the contact, but recovered quickly or he would have dropped the plate of fresh croissants he had just pulled out of the oven. He wasn't certain why she had touched him, but he didn't like it…it just served to further confuse his thoughts about women.

"Is there something I can do to help?" She asked.

She thought she had just startled him by suddenly being at his side; she didn't realize that her touch was like a foreign substance to him.

He just stood there with the oddest look on his face, wondering what on earth she was talking about.

"With breakfast…can I help?"

His eyes lit up and he finally reacted to her question with a discomfited smirk.

"No…thank you…it is already done." He looked at everyone and finally smiled, albeit nervously. "Please, everyone sit down and eat."

Everyone did, including him, but he ate nothing – as usual.

"Eat somethin', Erik."

Tarrah had a disgruntled look on her face as she stared at him.

"I am not hungry."

"Ye are, and ye know it…I do not want ye sneakin' downstairs later, only to take food back up to yer self-imposed prison an' eatin' in complete solitude."

Erik sat back in his chair with one hand on the table and the other in his lap. His mask was dutifully in place and he looked immaculate, except that his hair was tousled – giving him an endearing, "the morning after", look.

His crisp white shirt was pressed perfectly, but he had chosen to leave the first two buttons undone. The light dusting of dark hair that winked at them from over the rim of his shirt was enough to make any woman sit up and take notice.

He raised the dark curve of his brow and sucked air in through his lips and teeth in a threatening manner.

"It is my house and I will 'sneak' anywhere I please and 'eat' anywhere I please."

Tarrah was not about to let him think he had won, and her mouth opened to answer to him, but it was Annette's voice that came out.

"That song you sang last night…when did you write it?"

Annette was trying to avoid another quarreling match between Tarrah and Erik; it seemed that Erik had met his match in the little Irish lass.

Erik steeled his eyes on Tarrah for a few moments, lifted a brow, and then smirked at her – it seemed they had an understanding of one another.

"I wrote it some time ago…" his eyes drifted from Tarrah to Annette in a lazy, slow line, "…five or six years…I am unsure of exactly when I wrote it." He put his hands together as though in prayer; placing them in front of his face, and against his lips – with his thumbs supporting his chin.

"I did not mean to wake the entire house last night, I sleep little and music relaxes me.

An awkward silence filled the room and Erik finally stood up.

"I must get to the opera house and talk with Hammond. Tarrah…" he looked at her again, all thoughts of anger gone, "…you and Blanche begin covering the furniture and donate any unused food items to St. Catherine's convent; the nuns will be most grateful."

"I would be happy to help get the house ready, if you do not mind, Erik."

Meg finally spoke. She had been decidedly silent for the past two days.

"Tarrah is in charge, you may ask her if your services are needed; but she would be wise to accept."

He went to the door and retrieved his hat and cape; he swirled the cape around with finesse and elegance, and then swept the hat on his head for a dramatic effect.

"Erik…."

Annette's voice stopped him from heading out the door and he turned to see her inquisitive eyes staring directly at him.

"…what are we to do?"

He looked rather baffled for a moment. He had almost forgotten they were standing there.

"You may come with me, if you wish…" he glanced at Raoul and then at Christine. "…I have business at the opera house, but you are welcome to take the tour."

♠♥♣♦

Hammond had not liked the idea of losing Erik and Tarrah, but he understood. The understudy could do a fine job with Tarrah's part, and Erik had taught various people how to do his jobs – although they didn't do them as well as he did – and it took all of them to make one of him.

"Come back soon, Erik; we will miss you."

Hammond patted him on the back and shook his hand. They had developed a close relationship over the past four years. Hammond had taken a fatherly interest in Erik and cared for the younger man in such a way.

Raoul, Christine, and Annette toured the opera house and were most impressed with the design and functionality of the building.

"I do not know if I will be back, Hammond. I did not sign a contract for this very reason – I was certain I would be on the run constantly; but even after it was apparent that I was not, I just never thought about a contract."

Erik wanted to be open and honest with this man, there had never been a reason not to be; Hammond at accepted him without question and had never made him feel anything less then an equal partner.

"Well, if I hear about the Opera Populaire making a comeback, I will know who did it…good-bye son, I hope I see you again – soon – but if not, good luck."

They shook hands again and Hammond actually pulled Erik in for a huge hug. Erik had to admit, it was the first time a man had ever hugged him…he'd had a few hugs from Tarrah and some from Annette, but never had a man bothered to hug him as a son; his own father had certainly not stuck around to try.

He really didn't know how to react, so he stood rather stiffly while Hammond roughly hugged him.

From the opera house, Erik went to the train station to purchase tickets for the following day. If he ended up staying in Paris, he'd have to employ a moving company to move all of his household goods to France. It would be no small task.

Christine watched him through the day. She marveled at how he interacted with other people, but seemed always to be detached from them. He took part in many conversations and offered up his opinion and advice – but he never seemed to allow himself to feel accepted by them.

She was suddenly very tired and stopped to lean against the side of the building.

Erik noticed her very white complexion and stopped to help her. Raoul came running up to her side just as Erik was sitting her down on a nearby bench.

"Darling, is it the baby?"

Erik's eyes shot into Raoul with fervent interest; the words had stabbed him like a knife and he immediately stepped away from her.

Christine noticed his immediate withdrawal and captured his attention with her words.

"I was going to tell you, I just did not have a chance."

Erik turned from them, gathering his resolve. He swallowed hard, realizing that it wasn't jealousy he was feeling, just a sense of self-loss. Children – little ones, anyway – remained a frightening mystery to him; but one he longed to experience.

"You did not have to tell me, it is the natural course of things."

He was very happy for them, but he found himself pulling away from Christine – not wanting to pollute her air. The irrational part of him feared his presence would somehow tarnish the innocence within her.

He started to buy five tickets, but Raoul strongly objected. Erik tried to ignore the stab of fury that swept over him when he looked into the face that had once caused him almost to lose his sanity. Raoul was everything he would never be, and a constant reminder of his inadequacies.

"Erik, I insist that I buy our tickets, it is only fair that I do so."

Erik lifted his chin and looked down his nose at Raoul.

"I am not without means, Viscount de Chagny, do not think I cannot afford to buy tickets to Paris."

Raoul could hear the strained control in his voice and see the spark that lit his intense green eyes. He had emphasized Raoul's title and family name as though erecting an invisible wall between their different status levels.

"I do not mean to imply anything of the sort, Monsieur Lacroix. I have an idea of how wealthy you are and I know you could afford to buy the tickets – but please, allow me."

Erik released a long breath and looked away.

"You seem to be an honorable man, Viscount de Chagny, so you will understand why I wish to have no indebtedness to you."

Raoul understood completely. Erik was putting distance between them to protect himself. His impetuous actions the night of Don Juan and Christine's supposed rejection had embarrassed him and he felt humiliated in his presence, Raoul understood that feeling…even if it was unwarranted.

In the end, Erik allowed Raoul to purchase the five tickets from London to Dover and then from Calais to Paris.

"My family's ship will carry us across the Channel."

Erik rolled his eyes and gulped down the bile rising in his throat; ships…again.

"Perfect." He mumbled. 

TBC


	15. Chapter 15 Back to Where It All Began

Gerry tonight! Gerry tonight! Yeah!!! I need this tonight, I had to cancel my trip to Scotland in July - finances just will not allow me to go. I was going there for the GB(dot)net convention - and I had been planning this for almost a year; but life has a way of messing up the best laid plans!! So, after a few tears, my boss (whom I like very much) turning in his resignation, and my son losing his job - yesterday was just not a good day!!

Therefore, I need me some Gerry tonight!!

I know, that does not sound very good, but it's my story and I'm stickin' to it!!

Just a few (about five) more chapters until they meet face to face - but don't ya love the anticipation!!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 15

Thankfully, Erik slept the whole two-hour trip across the Channel. He had made sure he planned it that way. The last thing he needed was to be grossly sick in front of everyone.

He had left D'Ombre behind, and would send for him later – if need be. For now, he was well cared for in the stables of the opera house.

Tarrah came down and woke him up as the ship was docking and Erik straightened himself and prepared to step back on French territory. His stomach was knotting and his hands were sweating inside his leather gloves, even though he knew there was nothing for him to worry about – but old habits die hard.

He buried himself inside his cape and pulled his fedora over his eyes, trying to attract as little attention to himself as possible. The train station was quite crowded, but Erik was amazed that so few people seemed to be concerned with his presence.

"Erik, will ye stop – yer actin' like a vampire…people are goin' to start talkin'."

Tarrah grabbed his gloved hand and pulled him along beside her. He had little time to protest, as they were quickly boarded onto the train.

"What are ye doin'?"

Tarrah asked, not understanding why he hid beneath layers of clothing and always covered his beautiful, artistic hands with the most expensive leather gloves that money could buy.

He sighed with disinterested grace and sat down across from Raoul, Christine, and Annette; Tarrah reclined beside him and would not stop staring at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh no, do not even try it, Erik Lacroix, ye know perfectly well what I am talkin' about."

Erik tried his darnedest to ignore his ward, but the child had a way of staring him down.

"What?" he asked; an agitating lift to his voice.

She still didn't flinch, even when his tone grew more annoyed with each passing moment.

Raoul was actually finding the whole scene quite comical. This wisp of a girl had Erik wrapped around her finger and he wasn't even aware of it.

"Ye look like some beautiful, dark, avengin' angel when ye wrap yer entire body in that cape. Ye have no reason to hide beneath all the layers ye wear – and do not even get me started on that ridiculous fedora!"

Tarrah had said the words loud enough that many others on the train looked over at them. They had noticed the dark man, but this young girl was drawing attention to him.

"Tarrah, will you keep your voice down!"

"She is right, Erik…you are quite an attractive man, and no woman on this train – or anywhere - can see that if you keep yourself hidden."

Christine finally said it…it was in the open and she had not stuttered. She didn't clamp her hand over her mouth, nor bury her head in Raoul's shoulder. She had said what needed saying.

Erik looked dubiously from one woman to the other, but neither was willing to balk beneath his jade-colored stare.

He glanced at Annette and Meg for support, but they both just smiled and nodded.

"Oh, that is helpful, thank you Annette."

His scathing tone was laced with mirth, but he could not believe they had said such things about him in front of all these people.

He yanked the fedora off his head and lowered the collar on his cape; fully exposing his masked features to the people on the train with them.

"I hope you are satisfied." He growled. "Do not blame me if the women and children run in the opposite direction, screaming at the top of their lungs – or worse yet, start fainting dead away."

He was serious; and that made Tarrah even angrier. She decided to aggravate him further by standing up, leaning over him, and placing a kiss upon his cheek. Before Erik could react, she had done just that.

She really had him going this time. He was stunned into silence and sat there with his head glued in one spot, looking out the window. He wasn't going to risk catching the eyes of anyone on the train.

As he sat there, staring out the window, Erik realized how little progress he had made in the past four years. He knew he was over reacting, but what was new about that? Everything he did, he did to the extreme and over the top – it was the dramatist in him.

"Mother…what is wrong with that man's face?"

Erik heard the small child in the seat across the aisle from them prod his dozing mother and beg an answer. The child did not relent and continued to ask the question, despite his mother's lack of response.

Erik slammed his eyes shut, hoping the child would cease his zealous efforts; but to no avail.

The young boy's courage or curiosity got the best of him and he edged off his seat and inched his way toward Erik's still form.

"Mister?"

The small voice held no fear, only an absolute curiosity and childlike innocence to which Erik was not accustom.

Tarrah smiled at the boy as he leaned closer to Erik who, by this time, was pretending to be asleep. She nudged him, knowing he was just being annoying, and smiled innocently at him when his eyes opened slowly.

The mother had awakened by this time and upon finding her son talking to the strangers across the aisle, she immediately reprimanded him.

"Davey…leave her alone."

The boys head spun quickly, to look at his mother.

"But mama, I just want to talk to the man…please….I will not be a nuisance…" his little face was devoid of any guile and the mother was caving in, "…pleeeeease!"

The young mother glanced at Erik, and her eyes grew wide and questioning. He was dressed in the most expensive, elegant clothing she had ever seen; and, despite the mask, appeared to be a nobleman.

"Davey…his lordship has better things to do than talk to bothersome young boys."

Tarrah giggled at the inference that Erik was nobility, and Erik frowned.

"He is not nobility; it is interesting that you think so...this is Monsieur Erik Lacroix, the composer and artist from London." Tarrah looked at Erik again and winked at his scowling features.

The young woman's eyes grew even wider and she swept her eyes over Erik in wonderment.

"Well, this is an honor, Monsieur Lacroix."

Erik inclined his head slightly and turned back toward the window, hoping the boy would go away, and Tarrah would cease her infernal exuberance; he could feel a monstrous headache coming on.

"Mister…are you alright?"

The concern in the small child's voice caused Erik's heart to lurch and he turned his deep green gaze on the boy.

Children were as much a mystery to him as women were – more, really. He had never been around a child this small. There had been older children and adolescents at the opera house, but he had never mingled with them.

Christine had been nine when he came to be her Angel of Music; this boy was no more than five or six.

It was obvious the boy was not going to leave, so Erik decided to humor him, if even for a few minutes until his mother came to her senses and yanked the boy away from the monster.

A slight lift of a brow from Erik and the boy was making his way over to him. Erik felt a hinge of panic sweep over him as the boy drew closer.

_This is ridiculous, he is but a child, you cretin…he does not bite. _

Erik's thoughts did not show on his face, thankfully; but the boy didn't stop at just standing in front of Erik, he managed to crawl up into his lap.

Erik stiffened and pushed himself up straighter in the seat; his arms poised on the arms, ready to bolt to a standing position.

Everyone around him was watching his reaction and seemed very interested in how he would interact with the child.

Meanwhile, Tarrah had engaged the mother in a conversation and was keeping an eye on Erik at the same time.

"Why do you ask if I am alright…do I look ill?"

His voice was very pleasing to the child and Davey smiled brightly.

"No sir, you do not look ill…just sad."

The sincere brown of the boy's eyes never left Erik's face and they slowly scanned his face with interest.

Erik smirked, slightly, and the boy's handsome, flawless face broke into a huge grin.

"Is that why you are sad?"

His little hand pointed toward Erik's mask and for the first time in his entire life, Erik did not feel threatened by that gesture.

"You are a very intelligent and inquisitive child, Davey."

The boy wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips.

"What does that mean?"

Erik could not believe the spontaneous laugh that he experienced. What a refreshing change the child was from the usual criticism he received from adults.

"It means smart and curious….do you know what those words mean?"

The boy shook his head emphatically and smiled.

Christine, Raoul, and Annette watched the boy and Erik begin to develop a friendship, as though it was the most natural thing on earth. Erik had been transformed before their eyes. He was amicable and fatherly toward the boy and the effect was stunning.

"Watch closely."

Erik removed his gloves, retrieved a coin from his pocket, and waved his hands in front of the boy.

"Keep your eye on the coin."

Davey's big, brown eyes watched every move that Erik's hands made – sweeping over and under, and all around. When his hands stopped, the coin had disappeared.

"Where is it?" Davey asked enthusiastically.

Erik reached over behind the boy's ear and seemingly pulled the coin out of it.

His little features lit up with such joy and that Erik couldn't help but laugh again. The boy's hands clapped with vigor and Erik handed him the coin.

"Thank you, monsieur!" The boy exclaimed.

Erik picked the boy up and off his lap; steering him back toward his mother; but the small child turned back toward Erik and asked a quiet, heartfelt question.

"Does it hurt?"

His little finger was pointing at Erik's mask and the look on his face was pure innocence. Erik smiled, not knowing just how devilishly handsome he was, and made the boy smile back.

"No, not on the outside…sometimes I hurt on the inside, though." Erik replied, honestly.

"Why?"

Erik answered softly and frankly.

"People can be cruel."

Erik urged Davey toward his mother and then briefly caught her eyes. She smiled and blushed before taking her son into her waiting arms.

He turned back toward the window and completely ignored the curious stares he was getting from his traveling companions.

"I have never seen you interact with children before…it was wonderful."

Annette spoke, but everyone nodded in agreement.

He didn't bother to look at any of them, but they could see the softness fade from he features; he spoke softly and with dark undertones.

"Yes, well… contrary to popular belief, I do not eat them for dinner…" He heard a slight gasp from Christine and turned to regard her, and the others.

Tarrah narrowed her gaze at him and ground her next words out through clenched teeth.

"Must ye be so crude?" 

He scoffed and looked away.

"I am just repeating what I have heard with my own ears, Tarrah; I am really quite the monster to most people…" his eyes softened and he raised a hand to her check, brushing the back of his knuckles against her soft skin, "…you remain delightfully ignorant of this opinion."

"That is because ye are not a monster."

Her warm words touched his heart and he lifted one side of his mouth in a smile.

"And you, my dear, are either blissfully blind or impossibly ignorant."

The last remaining minutes of the train ride were spent in silence.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16 Something Evil This Way Comes

The interview with Jay was priceless, as they all are. Gerry being Gerry is always a joyfest! The man can tell a story like no other and he looked delicious!! Some of the gray is back at the temples - and he seems slightly more relaxed than he has in the past, but still delightfully fidgety!!

I am so thankful he wasn't hurt when he had the accident, at least not seriously.

Visions of Gerry dancing in my head!! (Not necessarily of HIM dancing, just of him - going through my head - I thought I'd better explain!!)

(Clears throat embarrassingly) On we go!!

Warning - there are inferences to man on man sexual preferences in this chapter (nothing graphic), just warning you.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 16

Never had a room so full of people been completely silent. Annette was busy in her small, but spacious kitchen – getting afternoon tea ready – rather late afternoon tea. The others sat in her living room exchanging glances and little else.

Erik seemed quite content to sit with his legs stretched out in front of him, his arms folded across his chest, his chin down, and his eyes closed; but no one in the room believed him asleep.

Upon entering the opera house, Erik had felt the faintest echo of belonging course though his veins; and he quickly squelched it before it became too much of a desire. They had done a decent job of recovering after the fire, and there were no visible signs of the disaster that had affected so many lives; and destroyed others.

"Monsieur Lacroix, how long do you plan on staying in Paris?"

The question had come from Gilles André. The little man fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair and gnawed on his bottom lip, but he tried to keep from looking anxious.

Erik didn't move, but his eyes floated open and landed gently on the man who had spoken. It felt rather odd, being called Monsieur Lacroix by André and Firmin; they had done nothing but torment him four years ago – now, they wanted to see how long he was willing to stay.

Tarrah nudged him, hoping to pull him out of whatever reverie he was in; but he continued to look straight ahead, making Gilles even more uncomfortable under his unflinching stare.

"He is not sure, Mr. André. There is a matter of business that he must tend to, and then decisions will be made."

A forced smile pulled Gilles' nervous features into a less nauseating look and Erik finally looked away, realizing he was making the man squirm.

"We never thought to see you in Paris again, Monsieur, especially the Opera Populaire...you are most welcome."

Erik pulled his legs in and sat up, looking less bored and more irritated.

"I never intended to come back to Paris; I made that quite clear in my letters to Annette. However, circumstances have come about that I had not anticipated, nor can I ignore them."

His voice was full and deep, resonating off the walls with a melodious ease that could comfort the weary heart one minute, and flood it with fear in the next.

Richard sat forward, supporting his hands on his cane and looking rather thoughtful.

"As I am sure you are aware, the Opera Populaire has not been doing well and we are being forced to close the doors – unless a miracle occurs."

Erik's gaze moved swiftly to Richard and he frowned.

"I was not aware of this…Annette has remained rather mute on the subject of the Opera Populaire; for reasons that I am sure we can all understand."

Raoul leaned forward in his seat, dropping his hands between this knees and raising his head to meet Erik's startled eyes.

"My family will no longer financially support it…the past couple of years have drained our resources to a dangerous level; my father will not permit it – at the insistence of my elder brother."

Raoul's lips quirked at the corners, passing as a makeshift, begrudging smile – he sighed with a strained exuberance.

"I have disappointed them one too many times, they will not listen to me."

Erik scrutinized the young viscount with open interest; he seemed to have come into himself over the last couple of years and Erik found the tiniest inkling of respect for the younger man.

"Disappointed them…." Erik's tone was disbelieving, "…you are level-headed, handsome, articulate, and intelligent; what could they have to be disappointed in?"

Stunned looks passed across the room. No one had expected Erik to admit such things about Raoul – especially Raoul; let alone mention them to anyone.

"If only my mother had been so lucky…"

Erik lowered his eyes and examined his hands with disturbing silence; his words had been barely above a whisper, but all eyes were on him.

"Imagine giving birth to something like me and having to gaze upon my hideousness day in and day out – knowing that you had a monster for a son…." He finally lifted pained eyes and smiled sadly – remembering the others in the room, "…my mother lived with that until the day she died."

Christine felt tears sting her eyes, as did Meg and Annette. However, Tarrah felt the acid sting of indignation fill her heart. The fact that Erik believed such things about himself perturbed her; and her only desire, at that point, was to box his ears.

She held her actions, as she watched Annette go to him and grasp his gloved hand. She felt the softness of the leather against her skin and caressed it as though it were his flesh.

"Erik…."

He watched her move her hand over his and then brought it to his lips; he did not touch his lips to her skin, but placed the kiss in the air just above her flesh.

"I do not want your pity, Annette, I never have and I never will…I simply say what I know to be the truth."

"That is the truth as _you _know it…why will you not allow us to disprove what you have been made to believe?"

It was past time to change the subject and Erik leaned back and crossed his legs; hoping this would end the conversation.

Meg had somehow moved to the couch to sit beside her mother. She was a quiet girl who only spoke when she was troubled or she wanted to know about something.

"Erik…why do you always wear gloves…I have never seen you without them?"

Her voice was soft and very breathy, but beautiful and distinctly female; Erik immediately liked the sound of it.

"It prevents complications, it is that simple." He murmured.

"What complications?" Annette asked, softly.

Every woman in the room wanted an answer to that timeless question. The only time he had been without them was during Don Juan Triumphant…and Christine remembered his hands as being incredibly gentle, masculine, and beautiful.

He was delightfully unaware of the interest they had all taken in his answer; he brushed the subject aside – hating to discuss himself.

"Not important…" he stood abruptly, dropping Annette's hand from his and walking toward the window. He turned toward them, with the evening sun fading behind him, "…I must prepare for the arrival of my bride…"

He almost laughed at the words as they proceeded from his lips; it was a mockery to think that some poor woman would bind herself to him. As it was, his tone was skeptical and his eyes were dark.

"…I need somewhere to work; to keep my mind occupied. I must sort through some things before she arrives." He looked to Richard and Gilles for the answer, "…someplace with a piano, violin, and a desk."

They stood and began heading toward the door, Erik took two graceful strides to them and then his soft, low voice quietly promised what they had all hoped to hear as he swept past them in an indomitable rush.

"The Opera Populaire will not close its doors – I will see to that."

André and Firmin shared a delighted smile and shook hands as the man they had feared and loathed four years ago, now became their salvation.

♦♣♠♥

Everyone who dealt with him felt the icy hatred that seemed to emanate from him. His eyes were barely human and he bore little resemblance to the stately young man they had locked away two years ago.

In those two years, he had hardly said a complete sentence to anyone, and many believed he was a mute; but the unspeakable evil that lurked in the silent darkness of his eyes, imbedded itself in the sickness of his mind.

No one could share his room, he had already killed one unfortunate soul they had been ignorant enough to lock up with him; they doubted that he would hesitate to do it again.

Restraints didn't work, either – he found his way out of all of them, as though trained by the best escape artists across the world.

They had given him a barred window, which he seemed to appreciate. He was often seen staring blankly out at the night sky or watching the other "patients" interact together during group activities.

Much of the time, they kept him pumped full of morphine, a drug he had become addicted to and craved with every beat of his wicked heart. Mostly, however, he filled his diseased mind with images of a man in a white mask, with dancing green eyes, and a voice that convinced his psychotic conscience that there was more to their relationship than there had ever been.

How long had it been since they had shared a gaze – seven years – eight maybe? Pieter smiled ruthlessly as he thought about the times they had spent together – brilliant teacher and avid student.

His hormonally dominated, teen-age body melted with desire, as he stood within such a close proximity of the man who made music come alive – the man who entertained him with acts of magic and escape; the man whose genius was only surpassed by his beauty.

Pieter understood, at a very early age, that Erik was special. The scars he bore were a testimony of his uniqueness and the personal obstacles he had overcome. They didn't make him any less deserving of Pieter's love; in fact, they made him seem more human than godlike being that Pieter remembered him to be.

FLASHBACK

1866

_Erik wandered the tunnels that stretched beneath the opera house. His steps were sure and silent, stopping every so often to listen to the strong, boyish tenor that resonated off the walls. _

_'Such a voice should not be wasted on rats and cobwebs.' Erik thought. 'The boy has talent. I must harvest it.' _

_He knew he was drawing closer to the source, but as Erik ascended toward the surface, he heard the degrading words of Ubaldo Piangi echo down toward him. _

_"Stop that incessant noise, Pieter, you will never be the star your mother is…you do not possess the necessary intelligence." _

_Erik could not see the child, but he recognized the calm, dead silence that what was coming – demoralizing, dehumanizing words that cut deeper than any knife. _

_"I had better not see tears, boy…do you hear me…boys do not cry like sissies…" _

_The words abruptly halted until Erik heard the distinct sound of a slap. The boys whimpering cry followed the sound and Erik seethed from fury; in the world, there were two things that Erik despised above all others – violence against women, and violence against children. _

_It was the piercing voice of Carlotta that kept Erik from teaching Piangi a thing or two about how to treat a child…he rolled his eyes and dropped his head upon hearing her. _

_"Leave him alone, my love, he is only a child." _

_Her words served only to infuriate Ubaldo even more and his voice sounded equally as condescending. _

_"You pamper him and turn in him into a spineless, gutless freak! I cannot stand the sight of him!" _

_Carlotta's response was as close to a scream as she could get. _

_"Let him seeng, Ubaldo; you seeng, I seeng…is it so hard to believe that he wishes to seeng!" _

_"He is strange…a half-wit; he will never amount to anything!" _

_She stood in front of him, breathing heavily and in full protective mode for her child. _

_"You haf bin jealous of him since he is born – the two ingrates you haf with that witch of a wife are special to you, but Pieter is just a bothersome reminder of me." _

_"Think what you will…mark my words, that boy is a freak!" _

_Neither one of them noticed when Pieter slipped out the door and headed toward one of the entrances to Erik's world; they were completely locked in verbal combat. _

_Erik threw his voice and caused the boy to look around for the source of the calming, deep voice; it seemed to be coming from a small, mangy looking dog that sat on the street corner wagging its sloppy tail. _

_As Pieter drew closer to him, Erik stepped out of the shadows and motioned for the boy to come to him, at this point, Pieter was immediately smitten; the man's eyes were like sparkling, green diamonds, and Pieter went to him without question. _

_"Come with me, child; I will teach you to sing like an angel and deceive like a devil." _

_Pieter learned all that Erik was willing to teach him, all the while harboring a growing passion for the man; there was only ten years between them, and Pieter cherished the idea of declaring his love. _

_For the next five years, they developed a close relationship, or so Pieter thought. Erik was always a bit reserved, but Pieter knew that he would return his love if he would but profess it. _

_Which he did, technically; Pieter touched Erik at every opportunity – on the shoulder, the thigh, the hand, the knee – he had even managed to place his hand to Erik's chest one time; warm, hard, chiseled – Pieter was lost. _

_Then, abruptly, five years after changing his life, Erik ended their relationship – just as Pieter was ready to profess his undying love and devotion and yield himself to Erik in every way. _

_What Erik thought a done deal, Pieter held in his heart and his mind. He was always finding ways – or creating them – to start a new life with Erik…but they never worked. _

_But someday… _

END FLASHBACK

Pieter didn't tell Erik of his plans for them, he was not sure if Erik returned his feelings – not that this made any difference, Pieter would just have to convince him.

_He is innocence and decadence all in one… _Pieter closed his eyes and pictured the object of his obsession in his mind; his body responding with eager anticipation.

Pieter lived in the past, he didn't care that years had past and Erik no longer gave him one scrap of thought. He didn't care that Erik had never seemed to notice his attempts at flirtatious banter or take his suggestive innuendos seriously. To him, no time had passed at all.

The door to his room unlocked and Pieter snarled with an angry growl.

The nervous doctor stood just inside the door and kept his hand on his pocket – a syringe was ready to level the young man should he make a run for the door.

"You have a visitor, Mallory."

A tall, distinguished man walked through the door and Pieter narrowed his empty eyes; what was the purpose behind this visit?

"Thank you, doctor; you may leave us….I want complete privacy."

"Yes, my lord." Came the muddled reply.

The door closed and they faced each other with curious, mistrusting glares.

"Trust me; this is not a social call."

Pieter smirked with an evil joy and stood, facing the man he had seen on occasion, frequenting the bathhouses and less prominent areas of Paris; places their kind could satiate their needs without going public.

"Then to what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

The regal man braced himself against the wall and looked around the meager quarters with distaste.

"A problem for me and a dream come true for you."

One shifty eyebrow rose and Pieter crossed his arms over his chest and continued to stare with mild interest.

"I have worked long and hard to bring the opera house to its knees, only to have my efforts thwarted by the former Phantom…"

Pieter's eyes lit up and a boiling inferno of lust filled his loins.

"…I see that you are still interested in him."

Pieter gave a slight nod of his head and the man smiled maliciously.

"Here is my plan."

The two men shared thoughts and a few heated caresses before the plans formed completely in their minds.

"When?" Pieter asked, accepting a kiss from the older man.

"Soon." He replied.

The door closed and Pieter went back to being the silent menace he enjoyed being; thoughts of sweet, lustful revenge building an inferno in his mind.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17 Past Regrets

Thank you, my little chickadees!! Happy Easter to one and all. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 17

"You are both welcome at the chateaux, Erik, you know that."

Raoul and Christine had just come by to visit and Erik had to get used to seeing them together; he realized that it was probably a good thing for him to see – the reality of it would help any healing that was yet to be done.

Erik had his back to them when Raoul spoke and it took a great deal of effort to keep his back from becoming rigid and a scoff from escaping his lips. He spoke softly, but quite forcefully,

"You will forgive me, viscount, for not accepting your invitation. It is just too awkward." Erik turned his head slightly – allowing a brief glimpse of his white mask, "I have accepted that she chose you, who can blame her; but I would rather not have to be exposed to it every moment of my life."

Christine cringed at his words. The self-loathing was painful to hear and even worse to see; although he had accepted their marriage and love for each other, it would be harder to convince him that she loved him also, in a different way, and wanted the same for him.

"Then you will stay here, Erik…there is plenty of room."

Annette would not hear of Erik and Tarrah spending their days in the hotel, wasting money on such things. There were plenty of unoccupied flats in the opera house; he and Tarrah could stay in one of them.

"Annette, I appreciate what you are trying to do; but I assure you, there is no need."

Truth be told, Erik didn't want to stay in the opera house. It called to him from the walls and depths – he was fighting the urge to seek out his old home and see what had become of it.

"Tarrah will be happier in the hotel and I believe that I will be, too."

Annette was fighting her own battle. Erik was back, and she wanted him close. He had agreed to write a couple of new operas while he was here; and allow them to be performed in the Populaire. He would wave his fee and allow his name to be advertised in association with the operas.

He and the two managers had been up for several house last night; talking and bartering until the wee hours of the morning had begun to fade and tiniest glimpse of dawn shined through the trees.

Erik sensed her unease and went to her; he broke all tradition and past behavior patterns, and wrapped her in his arms, giving her the hug she had thought never to receive.

"Annette, I am not going anywhere – alright – I will be here for some time, at least until this situation is resolved."

She turned from him, after he had released her, and sat down. She picked up her knitting and the quiet sound of the needles sliding together was soothing and domestic.

Raoul and Christine proceeded into the room and took a seat on the Queen Ann sofa. Raoul lopped his arm over the back of Christine, ready to pull her into him; but Christine gently pulled from him, not wanting to alienate Erik any further; she really had to find the time to talk to him.

Thankfully, Raoul understood and settled for holding her hand. He glanced up and saw that Erik was not even watching them, but was intently watching Annette knit something in a bright display of blues.

"Does the name Pieter Mallory mean anything to you?"

Raoul had decided it was time to find some answers to some questions he had been dying to ask for a couple of years.

Erik had not been pale for three years now, the sun had kissed his skin and he looked healthy and robust; but at the mention of Pieter's name, he went as white as a sheet.

"Where did you hear that name?"

He had not meant for his voice to sound so demanding or panicked, but he had hoped never to hear that boys name again.

"He is the one they apprehended in conjunction with Piangi and Carlotta's deception…" Annette stated, looking deeply into Erik's eyes and seeing a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. "…you do know him."

They could see it in his disturbed eyes and hear it in the way he sucked his breath in suddenly and forcefully.

"How do you know him?"

Erik moved to sit beside Annette, but his eyes remained decidedly fixed on his gloved hands. He had not made the connection when Annette had mentioned Carlotta and Piangi's son in her letter.

"He was my pupil…once…" he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "…a few years ago."

"Your pupil?"

Annette thought she knew about every person that Erik had taught, but she knew nothing about Pieter.

His mocking scoff showed Annette that Erik was more than willing to forget about whatever had transpired between him and Pieter.

"I taught him for about five years – around the same time I was teaching Christine."

He removed the gloves from his hands and laid them neatly in his lap; his aching head lolled back and he rubbed his forehead as though willing the pain away.

Christine watched him take his gloves off and noticed how beautiful his hands were. She remembered seeing them that fateful night four years ago, but the nights events had prevented her from appreciating all the beautiful aspects of the man.

"Erik, tell us about him."

He took off the mask and placed it on the table next to the settee; he knew that everyone in the room had seen him, but since leaving England, he had worn it more than he had for the past couple of years.

He rubbed his face with both hands, and then leaned forward; he dropped his hands and his head between his knees and quietly thought.

Tarrah entered the room and went to stand behind him; she rubbed his shoulders and smiled when he bolted upright from the contact. He smiled briefly at her and patted her hand with his.

She continued to rest her hands on him, and Erik eventually leaned back, accepting her hands on him with reluctant approval.

"There are two men in this world that I have feared; Pieter Mallory is one of them – my father was the other."

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes; memories flooded his mind – cold, terrifying memories of a time not long ago when Erik had realized Pieter's sexual orientation, and his demented mind.

"He was gifted; there was no doubt about it. His voice was…" Erik struggled for the right word, "…unmatched.

"However, he began exhibiting symptoms of mental illness and depraved sexual urges…"

Erik looked at all the ladies in the room and apologized.

"…forgive me…the story is not appropriate for mixed company, I should not speak another word."

Annette would not have it, and knew the other ladies present would want to understand.

"Continue Erik, we need to know."

He looked away, sighed loudly, and then continued.

"Anyway…these urges were centered on me…" Erik's humorless laugh did little to lighten the air, "imagine that…" He shook his head and cleared his throat, "…we had been working closely together for three years, and the entire time he moved closer and closer to me…touching me inappropriately and making lewd remarks…

"…I chose to ignore his advances instead of addressing them; hoping that he would understand that I was not interested."

Erik's steely eyes fixed on Annette, but then moved around the room; finally settling on an inanimate object some three feet in front of him. His voice was harsh and full of self-hatred.

"I will never know the lovers touch of a woman – I am very much aware of that; but, I have no desire to be with a man."

He felt the nausea rising in his throat and he swallowed hard, hoping to ward it away. He composed himself and continued.

"I had been physically groped many times while in the gypsy camp – my master made sure of that – so I knew where Pieter's desires lay.

"I verbally told him I was not interested, but it was as though my words were falling on deaf ears – meanwhile, I stopped teaching him – the music…self-defense…the magic – I cut all ties with him.

"When Christine entered the picture, he backed off, but his cold, unwavering, dead stare left me frozen inside." Erik looked up into the avid eyes of everyone in the room, "He watched me silently and greedily from then on…then he started doing other things."

"Did you know he was Carlotta and Ubaldo's son?"

Erik nodded, quickly answering Raoul's question.

"I never took him to my lair, and I am most thankful that I never did…he started becoming increasingly agitated and edgy – he refused to believe that I did not return his feelings – the boy is inhumanly strong and assaulted me on many occasions. It seems his…" he glanced at the women again, and chose his words wisely, "…urges had turned violent. He had learned a great deal from me, and used it against me when I least expected it."

Erik leveled his gaze on Raoul and they seemed to share a moment of silent commonality.

"If I am a monster, as _most _of you have claimed at one time or another, than Pieter is pure evil….he has no soul…if I were a betting man, I would wager my life on it."

"What did he do to you, Erik…you said he assaulted you?" Raoul asked, not completely certain that he wanted to know the answer.

Erik scoffed and pursed his lips, "He searched and searched for my lair, and many times he caught me off guard when he was lurking through the tunnels – he and Bouquet. At that time, Pieter always carried a whip on him and he would stalk me until he found a good attack point. He would hurl the tip of that whip through the air and bring it across the back of my legs – sending me to my knees...I woke up several times, bleeding profusely from wounds on my legs and buttocks."

Raoul interrupted, needing to clarify a few things…and hoping to get the bloody images out of his head.

"Erik, you are a hard person to sneak up on …how did he manage this?"

Erik grimaced and inhaled deeply.

"Easily, I taught him."

He whispered, closing his eyes in shame.

"He had apparently been abused as a boy – just like me – we shared a common past. I wanted him to be able to defend himself against future attackers…so I taught him what I knew; well, most of it, anyway."

This was a part of Erik that Tarrah had never known – it sure explained a great deal; and what was this she heard about gypsies?

"Where is he now?" Erik asked, curious about what had happened to him.

"He is being treated at Voorhees Institute in Chateauroux." Raoul stated, "They have the best security in Europe and they are foremost in research on the criminal mind."

Erik laughed bitterly, "I should donate my brain to them for dissection and research."

Tarrah swatted him on his arm and Erik jumped form the contact.

"Ouch!" He exclaimed; he was ready to leave the heavy and depressing subject of Pieter behind.

"Do no' even tease about such things, Erik…ye are the most brilliant man I have ever known."

Erik rubbed the area she had swatted and feigned a great deal of pain.

"Than you obviously know very few men…." He teased; he smirked devilishly and winked, "…but I think that to be a good thing."

Raoul still had a rather serious look on his face, despite the jesting going on between Erik and Tarrah.

"What of the treasure Pieter is so adamant about?"

Erik shook his head and laughed.

"I suppose you refer to the treasure of Napoleon?"

Raoul nodded.

"There is no treasure…at least not in the traditional sense."

Erik's laugh was full and hearty, but Raoul still had not cracked a smile.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"My lair…that was the treasure of which Napoleon spoke. He had it carved out and had begun building it – assuming he could hide away for months on end without being caught by anyone. It was a brilliant idea; he just did not orchestrate it very well."

"Let me see if I have this correct, Pieter and Joseph Bouquet were looking for a treasure that did not exist – in the context they wanted it to – but they did not know this?

Erik nodded, affirming his assumption.

"That is correct."

Raoul finally cracked a smile and looked relaxed, "That is really quite amusing."

Erik smiled and nodded; he felt the same way. He rested his head back, nursing his headache with great care. The fact that he and Raoul seemed to agree on a great many things, did not help the situation any.

TBC 


	18. Chapter 18 An Offer They Can't Refuse

I hope I have not lost any readers; my reviews have dwindled, but I refuse to beg.

I know that this story has a few uncomfortable aspects to it, but I am trying to write a slightly different story than I normally do. I do hope you enjoy it.

Without further ado...

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 18

The next couple of days were full of hours and hours of writing. Erik had promised Richard and Gilles new compositions and at least one new opera while he was in Paris.

He would be leaving for Marseilles in a couple of days to pick up Sharad's sister. What would he do? Sharad wanted him to marry her, but Erik had promised himself – after his failure and subsequent embarrassment with Christine – that he would never have anything more to do with love; at least as far as he was able to control it.

Her name echoed in his mind; causing a tirade of forbidden and unwanted yearnings to flood his body; his eyes closed in painful regret for the things that would never be his.

"Lavanya."

He said the name aloud; he hoped that feeling it roll off his tongue would ease the unsettling doubt that had rendered him a bundle of rattled nerves. Just the prospect of meeting her had him in knots.

He threw the pen down on the desk and pushed the chair violently out from underneath him as he stood. He pushed his fingers thought his hair and strode to the large beveled window that overlooked the Paris streets; streets he had observed for years. He had been a dark, fallen, slightly imprudent angel watching the human race move through time without him.

A sardonic smirk lifted the corner of his mouth and the depth of his eyes grew slightly bitter as he remembered the pain he had lived through while haunting the caves beneath the opera house.

Nothing – absolutely nothing – was worth going through that hell again. He had tasted, if only for a brief moment, what it was like to be accepted – and he had grown to like it.

A light, but insistent knock sounded and Erik turned to see Annette enter. She smiled slightly and came to stand in front of him.

"You have been in here for hours, Erik, have you eaten anything?"

Erik scoffed slightly and shook his head, "Eating is seldom on my mind; I tend to wait until my head is pounding dreadfully and I can barely stand before I give into the need to eat."

"Let me buy you some lunch…"

She tilted her head sideways and roamed her eyes over his face; lovingly noticing that he looked exhausted. The slight graying at his temples was a new factor to his arresting features – but she found that she liked it, very much.

"…you do not eat enough Erik. Lavanya will take one look at you and think she is to marry a skeleton."

He wrinkled his brow – frowning endearingly down at her.

"I doubt that my lack of bulk is going to be her main concern."

He gave her his arm and began leading her to the door.

"Think what you want, Erik, but you are going to be surprised when a woman – bold enough to take control – comes along and stakes her claim on you."

Erik laughed, full and vibrant; filling the air with the sound of his polite skepticism.

Annette glanced sideways at him with a smirk on her face and twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

"Go ahead and laugh, but I am eager to see what develops between you and Lavanya."

They walked, her arm wrapped through his, enjoying the sunshine as it embraced them with the warmth of the afternoon. To those passing them, they looked like any other couple on the street; they enjoyed each other's company and spent time together – discussing various subjects and even laughing.

However, Erik was ever suspicious of people's intent, and hated the scrutiny he felt when among them. He never saw anything but hatred, revulsion, and disgust in their eyes.

"Right…" he laughingly replied, "…if we are lucky, she will not run away screaming when she sees me."

She rolled her eyes at him and scoffed, but she said nothing. His opinion of himself prevented him from believing anything anyone said to him, so she did not bother. The only way he would believe he was attractive, would be through the actions of a lover; Annette said a silent prayer that Lavanya would gladly assume that responsibility.

They arrived at the small street café and took their seats. Self-conscious and uncomfortable, Erik was having a hard time adjusting to being so close to those who had once shouted for his demise.

Annette noticed his unease and took his hand in hers as they sat across from each other. He looked up to find her fingers entwined with his. He had not worn his gloves and he stared helplessly as she gently massaged his long, talented fingers.

"You have been working too hard since you arrived; take a few hours off – at least…" she pulled her hand back and picked up the menu. "…now, what would you like to eat?"

♣♠♦♥

The meal was light and delicious, but Erik hardly tasted anything. He was anxious about the coming days, and he had never been too good at hiding his emotions.

He could tell that Annette had something on her mind; she was entirely too quiet.

"Alright Annette, out with it – what is the real motivation behind this meal?"

She smirked and lifted her brow, "You always did know what I was thinking."

Her brief laugh was slightly nervous and she shifted her eyes between him and movements of the waiter behind him.

"Tarrah and I found a house that would be perfect you."

His eyes didn't shudder – his mouth didn't drop – so far, so good.

"Really?"

His reply was soft and doubtful.

"It is in a secluded part of town; only the prestigious and upper-class live there. The house is large and quite ornate...and there is quite a lot of acreage that comes with it."

Erik lifted his chin, wrinkled his brow, and lifted the side of his mouth in a slight smirk.

"Why would I need a house?"

Annette rolled her eyes and daintily wiped her mouth with her napkin. She stared at him for the longest time, but didn't say a word.

Erik shifted in his seat, half expecting her to scold him. She didn't, but continued to stare at him with amused disgust.

"Erik, you are going to marry this girl, are you not?"

He leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table, "It seems I have no choice in the matter; I made an oath to her brother; it was years ago – but it was still an oath."

Annette noticed the defeated look in his eyes and the way he seemed rather disturbed over the idea of getting married; but she chose to dismiss it as pre-wedding jitters.

"She will need a home, Erik, a place to call her own."

"Are you forgetting, Annette, that I have a home – in London?"

Her face fell slightly, and she looked away from him; how could she make him understand?

"Erik, please do not make me beg you to stay…you know how much I want you here." She was forcing back tears, and hoped he hadn't noticed, "If you ever cared for me at all – or still do, you will stay here; you are like a brother to me."

He smiled and chuckled acceptingly, "Ahhh, the curse I am forever a part of…I shall always be the 'brotherly' figure, or the 'fatherly' figure to the beautiful women I have known in my lifetime."

Her eyes shot up and he realized that he had never told her she was a beautiful woman before - which she was. Strong of character and brilliant minded; Annette was undesirable among the men of Paris despite her ageless beauty. It did not matter, really, she was an independent and successful woman in her own right – heaven knows her useless husband had not made her what she was.

The only man who seemed determined to win her hand was Richard, and Erik had no idea why she kept refusing him.

"Erik, you have never said such things to me before."

He smiled and glanced away, slightly embarrassed at having admitted she was attractive, "You are a beautiful woman, and your independent and confident spirit just makes you more beautiful…in my opinion – not that it counts for much."

Annette touched his hand again, feeling a renewed youth in her heart at his words.

"Thank you, Erik, and your opinion has always meant a great deal to me."

He stared blankly at her hand, without blinking, as she gently stroked his flesh with her thumb.

"Whatever for?"

She smiled and gave his hand a hard tug, "Because I love you, you dolt!"

Erik's eyes grew wide at her admission and at her use of "dolt" – he did not believe anyone had ever dared to call him such a name.

"Oh!! Don't look so surprised, Erik; I love you like a brother, and Christine and Tarrah love you like a father. Meg is quite fond of you, but she does not know you very well." She released his hand and leaned back in her chair. "However, not all women will see you this way, and I do not want you to think that."

He smiled, and quickly changed the subject, "It matters not…as for where we will love, I will allow her to make the decision – the least I can do is try to please her." His eyes grew dark and an undefined sadness filled the air, "I trust that you, Tarrah, Christine, and Meg will help her feel at home."

"Of course, you do not even have to ask."

That was a good thing, for Erik planned to stay as far away from her as possible.

♦♥♣♠

The house they had found was quite lovely, from an artistic view. The intricate lattice on the outside of the house as well as the decorative molding was hand-carved and beautifully stained.

Erik walked the halls and inspected each room with an appreciative eye. He was intensely pleased with the attention to detail that the designer had paid; the overall lushness of the house was impressive.

Tarrah had immediately fallen in love with it and had begged him to stay in Paris; it seemed the city had spun its magic on her.

"I am goin' to luv it in Paris!" Tarrah said, with a big grin on her face.

Erik looked at her as they stood in the foyer looking around the large entrance hallway of their new home. He walked up to her and spoke in an even tone.

"You do realize that it will be like starting over, you do not have a name in Paris, Tarrah, and you will have to prove yourself."

She nodded, understanding that he was concerned for her delicate, female nature; but Tarrah was ready to take on a new challenge. Paris, and all its beauty, fashion, arts, and people posted the most interesting challenge to an almost-eighteen-year-old girl.

"Is _she _the diva?"

Erik knew exactly who Tarrah was referring to, and could hear the slight influx of jealousy in her tone. Tarrah had never had competition before, but Christine posed a valid threat.

"Yes she is, and has been for some time."

Tarrah shuffled away from him and tried to hide the uncertainty she was feeling. Erik smirked slightly, knowing that the competition would be good for her.

"Tarrah?"

His voice had that warning lilt at the end and Tarrah lifted apologetic eyes to him. She hated feeling this way, but there had never been a reason in the past.

"She is good, Erik…I heard her singing this morning. How am I ever going to compete with that – what will become of me?"

Erik stood in front of her with his arms crossed and the most perturbed look on his face. They stared boldly at each other once Tarrah realized he was not going to coddle her.

"What do you want me to say…" he asked, with a frustrated edge in his voice, "…that she is not good and you have nothing to worry about?"

He was not going to tell her that Christine was leaving the opera to start her family; Tarrah would find out soon enough – in the mean time, she would become better.

His eyes were dark and in them beat a deep pain that Tarrah had never seen before.

"I cannot say that, Tarrah – and I refuse to lie to you…she is good. I trained her to be such."

Tarrah's eyes were defiant, but her chin was trembling with pent up emotion. She knew she was good, but she had never faced anyone of Christine's caliber before.

"Tarrah…" his voice was soft and pleading; he lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes.

He seemed vulnerable for the moment and Tarrah took advantage. She leaned into his broad chest and buried her face in his shirt. He wore no jacket and his shirt was crisp and clean. It clung to his muscular chest like a loose glove – giving a good view of his muscular build.

He smelled of exotic spices and exotic Asian musk and Tarrah clung to him as though letting go would sever her lifeline.

He stood there, looking like a lost puppy, cradling Tarrah in his arms, and enjoying every minute of it. He had begun thinking of her as a daughter, more and more. The thought of her looking to him as a father made a warm place in his heart.

He patted her back, something that seemed to come naturally, although he had no idea why; and kissed the top of her head.

"Tarrah, the more I think about it, the more I know that you need this competitive stage in your life – you have never had to face anyone who could actually give you a challenge…" he lifted her chin as he pulled back from her, "…I trained you, too…I know what you are capable of."

She smiled sweetly and hugged him again, more determined than ever to be the best.

♦♣♥♠

The next two days were spent making arrangements for their belongings to be sent from London. Erik told himself that it was only temporary, that his farce of a marriage would be over in no time, and he could return to his life – those thoughts were what kept him going.

He sent a wire to Hammond, explaining the situation and promised to send copies of his work to him so that performances could be done in both opera houses, then he made an offer that Richard and Gilles had not expected.

They sat in the main business office of the opera house. Erik had just made an offer and both managers were trying to decide the best course of action.

"You want to do what!?" Richard exclaimed.

His bedazzled look was almost comical, but Erik remained calm and stood remarkably still as he watched his former adversaries ponder their next move.

"You cannot be serious?" Gilles added.

Erik, fighting the urge to laugh, merely sighed and examined the back of his nails in a bored manner.

"I assure you both…I am quite serious."

"You do realize that we have not had a profitable season in the last three years…" Richard emphasized.

Erik gave one nod of his head.

"….and that there is no money in the treasury…" Gilles stressed.

Erik gave another nod.

"…and that you would have sole responsibility if this fails?"

Erik smiled, and nodded one more time.

"In return my sizable financial backing, gentleman, I want full control over the staff and crew, the sets, the music – in essence, I will be the Artistic and General Manager and Financier, and you two…" he pointed with a smirk, "…will be the Operations and Business Managers. You will make sure the money flows as it should, that people get what they need to do their jobs, and that everyone is happy."

Gilles and Richard glanced at each other, wondering if they were making a pact with the devil; but they both knew that they had no choice if they wanted the Opera Populaire to stay in business.

"Have the papers drawn up, Mr. Lacroix, I do not see how we have a choice."

Erik scowled at them, "You always have a choice, gentlemen….and it will have to wait…" he pulled out his pocket watch and gave it a quick glance before returning it to his pocket, "…I leave tomorrow morning for Marseilles to retrieve the unlucky, young woman who is to be my bride."

He picked up his cape and pulled his gloves on; he needed to get to his new home and get some work done.

"Good day."

He nodded, walked to the door, and was gone

TBC


	19. Chapter 19 If I Promise the World

Thank you to the new readers/reviewers that commented on the last chapter, I appreciate your input. I am glad to have each and every one of you reading and thank all who take the time to review.

Next chapter, my ladies, they will meet...and what an interesting experience that will be.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 19

The house was a true work of art, and Erik was quite anxious to start on the landscaping in the next couple of months.

The idea of having a woman in his life was ludicrous, but a part of him longed for the normalcy of it. Of course, the fact that she was being forced into this marriage did not bode well with Erik, and probably did not make her feel any better about it.

What little he knew about women, he had learned in the last two years – from his interaction with Tarrah; before that, he had learned little from Madam Giry, and even less from Christine.

_Nothing I have learned from Tarrah is going to help me with this woman…it terrifies me to consider what she will think of me. _

His thoughts caused his brow to furrow and he rubbed his forehead absently, willing away any pain that was threatening.

Lavanya would be disappointed, that was inevitable, but Erik would do all that was humanly possible to make her comfortable in her new home and give her all that she required – hopefully, he would feel no attraction to her whatsoever – then all of his musing and worry would have been for nothing.

He finished the two plays he had written for André and Firmin, knowing that they were anxious to get started on the coming years productions. Erik had already planned a tentative itinerary for the schedule, but he would give them the respect they were due as co-managers, and allow them to voice their approval.

Tarrah was away for the day, making new friends with the performers and getting to know the staff and musicians with whom she would be working. Erik had insisted she go on her own, as he knew that she would force him into some uncomfortable situation in which he would have to explain something about himself. – never a good thing.

The furniture, all their belongings, D'Ombre, and various other things would take a few days to get here from London, as Erik had sent for them a couple of days ago. Reluctantly, he agreed to make his home temporarily in Paris – although it was not as reluctantly as he made everyone believe.

The greater part of him relished the new acceptance he had from the Parisian's; they looked at him with interest and respect instead of indignation and revulsion.

However, he still felt the pull of his demons, dragging him back to the possibility that it was all a dream – a fluke. He could not trust that it would last; he had been alone and abused too many years for the affects of those years to be gone completely.

He bundled up the plays and various other papers and headed over to the opera house. He needed to see Gilles and Richard before the day was over, he had not intended to be done with them so soon; but once he got started, he couldn't stop.

As he walked down the center aisle of the opera house, Erik noticed all eyes turn to him. The cast and crew had been informed of his return, and everyone was curious about him. Even with the stories and tales that had been told about him, most of the chorus and staff had not feared him.

As the Phantom, Erik had never threatened anyone accept Carlotta – and one could hardly call his practical jokes on her threatening – and the managers; and few doubted that they deserved what they got.

Many of those same dancers, chorus, cast, and set members remained that had been there four years ago; watching the former Phantom walk up the stairs and across the stage was like a scene from one of their plays.

Needless to say, Erik was nothing like what they had expected. His tall, graceful, lean form climbed the side stairs and walked across the stage, toward Annette. He could feel the eyes on him, but he ignored them.

"Where are Gilles and Richard, I have finished the plays?"

His voice carried deeply into the dark corners of the auditorium and the sound resonated back to them, filling the entire area with its beauty.

"They are in the back office, near the dressing room."

Erik nodded his thanks and swept past her, he had left the mask off, preferring to allow everyone to see him as just a man with a deformity. Hammond had taught him that they would either accept him, or not – no matter what he did.

"Erik…" Annette called after him.

He stopped and turned toward her.

"Will you please introduce yourself to the performers?"

He looked around as though noticing them for the first time; he nodded his head and bowed it slightly.

"Yes, of course."

He came to stand beside her, tall and roguish. He smiled at them, choosing to ignore the nervous twitter in his stomach.

"I am Erik Lacroix, the former Phantom of the Opera – as I am sure you have all been made aware."

He paused, assessing every set of eyes that looked his way. Christine came onto the stage and walked up to him.

"I am the Artistic and General Manager of the Opera Populaire, as well as being the financier. If you have any questions pertaining to the purchase of supplies, costumes, sets, or other items, please send a requisition through the Business Managers, Richard Firmin or Gilles André and I will do my utmost to see that those items are procured."

The approving chatter that reached his ears made him feel better about taking on this huge responsibility. He dismissed himself and headed off the stage, with Christine and Annette riding his heals. Before he could fully remove himself, Annette had to ask a question.

"You leave tomorrow morning, do you not?"

Erik sighed deeply and squared his shoulders, "Yes, I have asked that Tarrah accompany me so that the young lady will have someone with whom to talk."

Annette chuckled and glanced at Christine, "Did it ever occur to you that she might want to talk to _you_?"

His shocked look was almost too good to _not_ laugh at, but Annette held her poise.

"About what?" He asked.

She did giggle at those words, "Erik…" she rested her arm against his elbow, "…she is to be your wife; do you not think that it would be wise to get to know her?"

"Get to know her?" he repeated, with added emphasis. "Why should I get to know her…that entails actually speaking civilly to one another – which I doubt she will be keen on doing, as she is being forced to marry me!"

"Give her a chance Erik." Annette pleaded, trying to calm his rising irritation.

He chuckled bitterly, "I doubt that she will return the same to me."

He turned to walk away, hoping to find a straight path to Gilles and Richard. However, as luck would have it, Christine chose that moment to saunter up to him and hug him.

"Thank you, Erik, for all that you are doing to save the opera house."

For a few moments, Erik could not respond to her strange show of affection. She had always seemed terrified of him – or maybe it all been in his mind.

"You are welcome, Viscomtess, I do intend to restore it to its former glory…" he looked up and saw that all eyes were on them, "…with the help of everyone on this stage – and those who are in the background – we can make the Populaire the most famous of opera houses once again."

The few that remained, on the stage and around it, applauded and Erik bowed his head, slightly – moving out of her embrace. He had not meant to draw attention to himself, but he had realized in the last couple of years, that it happened anyway.

He dismissed himself and glided from the stage in search of Gilles and Richard. Christine watched him go and smiled.

_He has come a long way in four years, and this woman - whoever she is – is a lucky woman. _

Her thoughts made her smile, but Christine felt the loss profoundly. Her Angel no longer looked at her as though the sun rose in her path and the earth rotated around her. His beautiful, pure eyes no longer adored her as they had. He had moved on.

It would be hard to watch this other woman be with him; hard to watch her touch him and adore him – for Christine had no doubt that she would. Erik was going to be her husband; that alone added a sense of intimacy that afforded her more of him than Christine had ever dared to take.

The knot in her throat was hard to swallow, but she managed, and left the stage to change into her regular clothes. She would have to find the chance to talk to him later.

Of course, it would have been easier if Erik were not purposefully putting distance between them. He did not know what feelings, if any, Christine had for him – and he was not sure he wanted to know. He just knew that it was best for everyone if he stayed away.

He lurked in the shadows, the Phantom once again, and watched her pace the floor as though waiting for someone. It was not long before someone emerged through the door and she ran to him.

_All I ever wanted was for her to be happy, and she is; even if music is not going to be a part of her life as I had envisioned it to be. She was meant for grander things – she is nobility now. _

Erik watched with a fatherly gaze as she greeted the handsome figure of her husband. They made quite a pair, Erik had to admit; she was elegant and graceful – moving beside him as though made for that sole purpose - and Raoul was regal and noble, standing straight and proud beside her – two beautiful people.

_They will make beautiful babies together and live a life worthy of their status. I must not ever interfere; I have made a fool of myself in the past – it will never happen again. _

The thought of her pregnancy brought a smile to his lips, and he pictured her with a child in each arm and another at her feet; two blond, perfectly handsome young boys – looking just like their father – and a brown haired, brown-eyed girl with a voice like an angel.

_How I would love to watch their children grow and for one of them to possess her voice…to mold and cultivate that gift...to give my music to a young child as my legacy to this world… _

Deep inside, he knew it was an impossible dream. Raoul still despised the very sight of him, although the young aristocrat was doing a fine job of disguising it. There would be no children in his future…the thought saddened him more than anything he had ever known.

Erik shook his head and heard the mocking, callous voice of loneliness ridicule and laugh at him. His thoughts had carried him to a place he tried to avoid, a place where the hope of something other than loneliness awaited him.

Tarrah would be his gift to the world – his offering. She would carry on the knowledge and beauty of his music for another generation; for that, he was grateful.

The longer he thought about it, the more he desired just one child – one small miracle – boy or girl, to whom he could bequeath his legacy. Perhaps, if he promised her the world, Lavanya would allow him to get her with child – if he promised never to touch her again.

Did he have the courage to ask this of her? It would be humiliating if she turned him down…degrading and humiliating….but did he have the courage?

♦♥♣♠

That night, lying in his bed, Erik had no idea that his bride-to-be was thinking about him with as much curiosity and interest as he was thinking about her.

They each had their reservations and regrets; neither of them ready for what was to come, but eager to make a new life in whatever way they could.

Erik was terrified of rejection and failure; once again returning to the abysmal muck that had been his life for so many years. He feared the look in her eyes when she first gazed upon him…for the mask was no longer a formal part of him…its vulgar mockery had turned him into a lunatic once; it would never have that power again.

Lavanya was terrified of a cage; of being bound to a dreadfully awful man who had no beauty to him at all. She wanted a man she could make smile and laugh – a man who melted from her touch and who longed to hear the sound of her voice every day. She wanted him to watch her dance and be unable to keep his hands off her. She wanted to be needed - not shuffled aside for grander things.

At that moment, they were sharing secret smiles.

Lavanya thought about the look that would be in his eyes as he raked them over her curves and watched her swirl toward him – just beyond his reach. The movements of her hips and the seductive language of her hands would be enough to drive him wild with passion and she would long for him in the same manner.

The more she thought about it, and the closer the time came, Lavanya realized she was excited about this marriage. Sharad had promised that Erik was a good man – made of good character and honorable; his looks really did not matter. If he allowed her to dance, further her education, and be herself – she would make him a good wife – in every way.

Erik thought about the pleasant prospect of having a woman in his home; someone to share interests and ideas with; a wife with whom he could possibly have a baby – an idea that elated him. However, at the same time, it petrified him.

He would try to keep his heart out of it; but Erik had found, in the recent past, that he had little control over such things. If she ever allowed him to touch her in such a way, he would be her slave…he already knew this.

Too bad hearts didn't come with chastity belts.

TBC


	20. Chapter 20 Why Can't Things Go My Way?

An early gift for my wonderful readers...I love you guys!!

Are you ready for this? I know I am; they meet at the end of this chapter.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 20

_March 1, 1876_

Erik had made the arrangements and they would be leaving on the 9 a.m. train to get to Marseilles by 8:30 p.m. After careful consideration and a motherly speech by Annette, Erik had decided it was best if Tarrah stayed behind and Annette be the one to accompany him. It would not do to have the chaperone be his ward.

Lavanya Keshav was to dock tomorrow morning, so Erik and Annette would spend the night at a hotel in Marseilles and be ready to pick her up in the morning and procure a place on the earliest train back to Paris.

Thankfully, the morning was bright, with only a few clouds floating in the blue sky. Erik had bid Tarrah good-bye, amidst a tirade of protests; bur he was firm in his decision and Tarrah respected that.

"Besides, you would probably make her very nervous." Erik teased.

"I would no' make her nervous." Tarrah pouted, trying to sound pitiful.

Erik smirked and raised his exposed brow, "Tarrah…you make me nervous."

He had tried to remain upbeat and sociable throughout the early morning, but his instincts told him to avoid everyone around him; but he had become accustom to ignoring the voices that always pushed him toward a life of solitude and loneliness.

"I am supposed to make ye nervous, ye're a man."

Erik laughed at her female reasoning and softened his eyes; she had seldom had reason to be away from him. He realized she was feeling abandoned and left out – he found it rather endearing.

"Ah, you noticed that I am a man, I am truly impressed." He remarked back, with a tweak of her nose and a great deal of sarcasm.

She whispered back at him with a twinkle in her eyes, "Remember, I have seen ya without a shirt."

Continuing in the jesting mode, Erik responded, "Yes, well I have tried to forget that fact – as should you."

He chuckled lightly – ignoring any snide remark that Tarrah had planned to retaliate with - and walked toward the door. Madam Giry was a few feet in front of him, looking back on the two as they playfully bantered with each other.

He stopped to instruct the newest member of his staff. Mitzi was a young woman that had come highly recommended as a personal handmaiden to the woman who would become the Lady of the manor.

He had offered to hire one for Tarrah, but she had adamantly refused; something about her privacy being invaded and her thoughts being her own – or some such nonsense.

The young woman curtsied as she stood in front of him and her face remained a mask of professionalism as Erik spoke.

"We will be back tomorrow night. Make sure her room is prepared and have a bath drawn…she will most likely be very tired after such a long trip and will need to relax and escape for a little while."

He turned to Tarrah as though he had forgotten something. He reached into the breast pocket of his coat and pulled out his money clip.

"Tarrah, you and Meg may go to the various stores and buy all of the toiletries and female necessities that you can think of…she will need them all…." He smiled as their faces lit up when he started to hand them a good sum of money. "…treat yourselves to lunch and buy yourselves some of that perfume that you love so much."

He waited until Tarrah had almost grasped the money, and he pulled it back; grinning widely at the exasperated sound she made at him. She crossed her arms over her chest and patted her foot in annoyance.

Erik saw the ornery twinkle in her blue eyes and very carefully handed the money over to her – with no hesitation.

"Have fun…" he smiled and then winked, "…I will see you tomorrow night."

♠♥♦♣

If there had ever been a doubt in his mind, every trip he took convinced Erik more and more that he hated trains and ships…and people – especially people he did not know. The train was rather full, so he hunkered in the corner as though glued to the frame of the train.

Annette was talking amiably with just about anyone who would carry on a conversation and Erik found it quite annoying that she ignored him completely.

He drifted in and out of sleep, finally feeling a nudge from Annette a couple of hours into the trip.

"We need to eat, Erik. The dining car is at the other end of the train; I am starving."

He rolled his eyes beneath his closed lids, feeling very cranky at having his good sleep interrupted. He ignored the voice, hoping it would go away.

"ERIK!"

He startled, grunted, and opened annoyed eyes at her.

"I am not hungry."

Her raised brow and infuriated smirk did nothing to improve his demeanor, nor did his scowl intimidate her. He silently stood and followed her to the dining car, mumbling under his breath and feeling very…unsociable.

"I have been in freezing buildings that were warmer than your company right now."

She sat across from him, looking rather small and meek – so unlike the woman whose scornful, demanding eyes had led him through the hordes of people to the dining car in the first place.

His green gaze was ominous and hypnotizing as he lifted his eyes to her. He knew he was in a foul mood; he supposed it was a combination of things.

"You can talk to me Erik, what is the problem….I would have thought you would be happy with the prospect of having a wife."

He grimaced at her implication and buried his head in his hands. The mask stayed in place, but he felt imprisoned within it, once again.

"Oh yes, I should be happy because a woman is being forced to marry me so that she will not be left without means or protection in a strange country..." he rolled his eyes once again and spat, "...yes...that makes me all warm inside."

She chose to ignore the sharpness in his tone and continued.

"What do you know of her?"

He shrugged his shoulders and began piddling with a designated spot on the table.

"Not much, really; her name is Lavanya Keshav, the sister of the man who single-handedly helped me escape India and, most likely, saved my life…"

_FLASHBACK _

"The Thrill of the Hunt" gaming field, lands of Romir Keshav, 1860

_The darkness clothed him in a sheet of __midnight__ black and Erik would have thought it a comforting embrace if not for the blood that was on his hands and the smell of death in the air.  
_

_India was everything he had dreamed it would be…exotic and forbidden; the beauty of the land was such as he had never seen before and he knew he would never forget the warmth of the sun or the aroma of the flowers that grew in almost every area. _

_He had escaped to this fairytale land hoping to find the humanity he had lost to the gypsies…but some in _ _India__ possessed a penchant for the odd and peculiar – just like the gypsies had. _

_The man on the cold ground in front of him would be counted as his twenty-fifth kill; a noble feat for a modern gladiator. He stared at the gaping wound his rapier had left – and gagged. _

_Romir preferred the musket – but if Erik was going to "play" this sick game for his survival, he was going to play it his way. _

_Hatred, hot and exhilarating, poured through him. Romir Keshav had done everything short of castrating him to rob Erik of his dignity and humanity – but the parasite had met his match in the young outcast. _

_People made the mistake of thinking that Erik's self-hatred was the precursor of self-destruction, but they knew nothing about him; his will to survive and the instincts he possessed to do so, were legendary. _

_The sound of an approaching horse sent Erik into the shelter of a nearby clerodendrum bush. He recognized the scent on the air – this same person had been watching him for some time; assessing him; learning him. _

_This time, there would be a face-to-face confrontation. Erik was hardly human, after all, so he could certainly kill again with little or no remorse. _

_He told himself this, but it was not true. He hated himself more and more, with each passing day and with each new kill. What had these men done to deserve death? Erik was, in essence, their executioner - for he would **not** allow them to kill him. _

_This knowledge had kept him from a decent nights sleep for the four years he had been a prisoner of Romir Keshav - a prisoner and an asset. _

_The night he had been captured and hauled before Romir Keshav was burned into his memory and there was nothing he could do to escape it. He remembered the events as though they had happened yesterday – the words – the smells. _

_"What are you?" _

_Keshav had asked with a disgusted snarl on his face. Erik had attempted to make eye contact but felt a whip land across his shoulder blades with painful precision. _

_There had been no need to answer, as Erik knew that any attempt to open his mouth would be met with hostility and more brutality. _

_Romir came forward and examined his latest "find" with narrowed, beady eyes. It was important to have a powerful slave…one whose life held little meaning. There was to be no family – no one to come searching should the "hunt" result in death. _

_This specimen – though young – possessed a feral gaze and the leanest, strongest build he had ever seen. It was lithe and poised – much like a panther readying itself for the kill. Hatred burned within the molten green eyes that held a flaw that Romir hoped would not become an issue – bold intelligence. _

_"You are to be my new champion, slave – your victories in the fights are legendary – you cost me a fortune, but you will be worth it." _

_Kalaripayattu was forbidden years ago, but the eccentric and very rich still trained champions – and had turned the sport into something deadly; the particular group that had captured and trained this champion was extremely__ inhumane and brutal – turning men into animals. __Romir had watched him – and knew he had to have him; graceful and elegant in his form – from the way he yielded his weapon to the way he moved over the ground – exquisite. __"I want him, whatever it takes…" __They had bargained for him as though he was a slab of meat, and thrown him into the gladiator games that Romir Keshav was infamous for; he was an underground legend in the darkest, seediest places in _ _India._

_That had been four years ago and Erik's life had plummeted downward in every way. His brilliant mind was wasted on clouded dreams brought forth by absinth and morphine; or any other chemical his "master" deemed useful. _

_Altering the "game" was what kept the competition so heated; and Erik was the best; even when completely given over to drugs; he was like an animal in his fury and Romir made a great deal of money off him. _

_The whinnying of the horse alerted Erik to the rider he had been waiting on. The face was hidden, but Erik could see that the man was quite large, about the same size as he was in girth, but shorter of stature. _

_"Mahan Sainika (Great Warrior), I am Sharad Keshav, I come as a friend." _

_Not hearing any threatening tones in the voice, Erik removed himself from the cover of the bushes and stood arrogantly before this man – the son of his sworn enemy. _

_"Why would you, the son of my 'master', lower himself to talk to the likes of me?" _

_Erik watched as the young man dismounted and walked over to him. He looked down at the dead body of Erik's last victim and knelt beside it. _

_"This man was a murderer, did you know this?" _

_Erik had not known, nor had he cared – it was he or those they pitted against him – and Erik never lost. _

_"Does that make what I do any easier for you to comprehend? Does it allow for me to sleep at night?" _

_The bitterness in his tone was like fuel for the fire that burned within him. He despised killing – with everything that he was – but he would not cower to these people; they would never see him bow. _

_Sharad stood to his full height, which he noticed was an inch or two shorter then the warrior, and stared unflinchingly into the unmasked face of the man he had been told was a demon in disguise. _

_"They say you are not of this earth." _

_Erik scoffed and frowned, giving the shorter man a view of the perfect side of his face – shrouded in the dark beams of the full moon. _

_"Really…how fascinating." _

_They stood, face to face, each assessing the other and neither willing to give. Erik admired the man's tenacity – staring at his unmasked features without flinching – it was a rare occurrence. _

_Sharad, although intimidated by few, felt the strength this stranger possessed, and knew that there would be little chance of coming out the victor should Mahan Sainika loose patience and decide that one more victim was no concern of his. _

_"Why have you been following me?" Erik asked, and then warned, "Choose your words wisely, Keshav, they could very well be your last." _

_Sharad, taken aback by the question, realized he should have expected nothing less from this man; he was a hunter – in every way. _

_"You are captivating to watch – especially in the throes of the kill – you are mercifully quick in your death plunge and I can tell that each kill touches you intimately – painfully…you hate what you are becoming." _

_Erik wrinkled his tanned brow and looked away from Sharad's intense gaze. _

_"You do not belong here, Mahan Sianika – you are above this life and these people." _

_Erik could feel his heart respond to the words that he spoke. He stood aghast from the shock of finding another human being - other than his mother, who cared about his welfare. _

_"Why would you care?" _

_"Because I know what these games will do to you…I know a little something about your past and the vicious cycle that is beginning to repeat itself." Sharad dared to move closer, "I see in you the man that my father wanted to turn me into – and I cannot bear to watch you be destroyed in such a way." _

_Erik continued to stare, dumbfounded, into the face of this man; was he offering a way out – was he offering his friendship – what? _

END FLASHBACK

"And he did, he got me out." Erik stated, staring out the window into the night sky. "He helped me get off the drugs and we became close friends."

Annette was stunned, completely astounded by the story that Erik had just told her. He had been as caged and brutalized in India as he had been with the gypsies.

"We spent the next year planning an elaborate escape that would be heralded as the work of a jealous gladiator – one whose path had crossed my own."

He smirked slightly, remembering the scheme as though it were yesterday.

"My charred remains were found buried in a shallow grave just outside of the playing field – burned beyond recognition – but undeniably me; the cloak found tangled in the branches of a nearby three put the identity of the unknown corpse at a rest – they were those of the 'Mahan Sainika' – the Great Warrior."

Erik dropped his head slightly, starring down at his folded hands; still buried beneath the layers of his leather gloves.

"I have been asked, numerous times, by various people as to why I continuously wear leather gloves on my hands…" he smiled sadly and Annette saw the sparkling tears glisten in the corners of his striking eyes, "…it is the blood...I hear its cry in my sleep."

"I know you do not want sympathy, Erik, but what you have told me makes your actions and moods more understandable and feasible. You were conditioned by the past to be who you are."

Annette's words comforted her as much, if not more than, they comforted him. She leaned over and ran her palm over the smoothness of his perfect cheek.

"You are an incredible man, Erik; and someday, you will know this."

He shook his head in disagreement, letting her know that he thought as little of himself now as he did fifteen years ago.

"Do any of the others know this?"

She had chosen to ignore his staunch negativism and forge ahead. Erik told her that they did not and the air went thick and very quiet.

"I trust that you will tell them should the need come up." He stated, formally ending the discussion.

Erik swept his eyes over her gracefully aging features and finally smiled. She had always been a friend to him – brutally honest, lovingly chastising, and tenderly caring.

"I know this is not an appropriate subject to discuss with you, but you are the only friend I have at this moment."

Annette frowned and nodded, she did not care what it was he wished to talk about, she only cared that he wanted to share it with her.

"I find with my waning youth, that I want a child…a child to carry on my music and my blood."

He saw the small flicker of shock fill her eyes.

"I intend to ask Lavanya to allow me to…" he stumbled around for the correct wording, but he was flustered with just the thought of it, "…that is…I am going to ask her if she will…"

He clamped his mouth shut, fearing that Annette would laugh and crumble every ounce of courage he was trying to foster.

She reached out, grasped his trembling, gloved hand, and smiled reassuringly, "I understand, Erik. She will be your wife; you have the right to ask this of her."

He vehemently shook his head and yanked his hand away from her.

"I would never make such demands! I will promise her anything…anything at all, if she will give me a child and allow me to be its father – a part of its life."

Annette heard the desperate pleading in his voice and saw the shadows of doubt play upon his features.

"I have no idea how to ask her, and I have no idea what I am doing." He lifted his dark, somber eyes and smiled bleakly, "I only pray that she will allow it."

♣♥♠♦

The remaining hours on the train were spent in reflective thought and quiet dozing; Annette sat across from Erik, watching him while he slept.

For the years he had been at the opera house, he had always been an oddity – not because of the way he looked, but of how he was so unlike anyone she had ever known.

He was a genius, but completely self-effacing about it; brushing it aside as though everyone had the same gift. He seldom slept, and ate very little; but managed to stay in exemplary shape. His physical strength and dexterity was legendary and Annette could not remember a time when he had been sick.

She said a silent prayer that this woman would be what he needed her to be, and that he could finally find love and have it returned to him.

A child with Erik's arresting eyes, handsome features, and genius mind sounded too good to be true, but she prayed it came to be.

When he awoke, they played several games of gin rummy and discussed the opera house, avoiding anything about his impending marriage to a complete stranger or his desire to have children.

Finding a hotel near the train station was not too difficult, as Erik was a wealthy patron and his money spoke volumes. They were able to rent two rooms for the night and each of them slept; one better than the other.

♠♦♣♥

There were hoards of people in Marseilles the next morning – some sort of official gathering; Erik watched, with an annoyed grimace, as person after person passed by him – some glancing over at him and immediately averting their eyes upon finding him masked – and others not seeming to notice.

He was a nervous wreck – he knew she would fear him; and possibly, detest him. However, a small part of him yearned for her acceptance and understanding.

_What a blooming idiot you are, Erik…you need to be ambivalent toward her – do not let her know your true feelings and all will be fine. _

His pep talk seemed to settle him down, only slightly. He prayed there was nothing remotely attractive about her – at least not to him – that would certainly make his role in this deceptively convincing marriage, much easier.

He certainly had nothing to offer her in the looks department, and he smirked at the absurdness of the whole situation. He wanted a child by this woman, no doubt, so he did not care what she looked like, and it was of no importance.

Even those women that society labeled as homely or undesirable, were more than Erik had ever hoped to attain; he would be grateful for any willing woman to accept him as a husband and lover.

These thoughts were swimming through his mind, absorbing him completely, until a woman of such rare beauty walked into his line of vision. She wore the most alluring clothing in different colors and it clung to her curves with caressing softness.

He carried his eyes admiringly over her form, taking in her shapely legs, generous hips; slender, yet softly padded abdomen, full, swelling bosom and long, luscious neck.

Erik felt his body react to her in a way he had not felt for a very long time – he growled; pushing his desires away from him like distasteful food.

He looked up to find blue/green eyes staring at him from beneath sooty lashes. Cascades of full, black, shimmering hair framed the exotically striking features; the smile that played upon the full, plump lips was irresistibly compelling, and Erik felt a raging inferno of desire envelope him.

Suddenly realizing that this woman was from India and her dress was that of an Indian woman engaged to be married, and adding the resemblance she bore to Sharad…Erik felt his desire fade and his heart fall.

_Well, so much for not finding her attractive… _

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes; once again, Erik felt like crawling under a rock.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21 Sharp Words, Sweet Lips

I have placed two new entries in my profile - both of them provided by iluvmyphantom - thank you, my friend. The first one is a fanact drawing she did of Erik and Lavanya - the other is a youtube video of the woman I used as my model for Lavanya's looks, grace, and talents, Aishwarya Rai.

Now...what will we do from here?

Enjoy my lovelies!!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 21

The only thing Lavanya knew was that the man she was meeting wore a mask. Sharad had not gone into a great deal of detail concerning the whys or hows of this, but she remembered the domino mask from years ago and Sharad had told her it was due to some sort of deformity; that was all she knew.

She emerged from the ship feeling cramped and dirty. There had been a couple of rudely intrusive men on board who had made it their business to crowd her for attention; she had just as rudely refused to give it to them, but that had not stopped them from being persistent.

She had dismissed Trace, not wanting to intrude on his time any more than she already had. He had given her a big hug on the ship and promised he would discipline the two men who had bothered her.

She breathed in the fresh air and felt cool pellets of soft rain falling on her skin. She looked up into the sky and smiled – enjoying the feel of the drops. She opened her mouth and tasted the freshness – she felt like a carefree child again, playing games with Sharad on the vast terrain they had called home.

She supposed she should have brought a parasol, but she had not even thought about it; it was not a downpour, so she determined it was not a major issue.

There were mountains in the background – frosted perfectly with a thin layer of snow; the sun shone over them, creating a shimmering halo.

The aroma of fresh baked bread wafted toward her and her insides growled in protest. She hadn't eaten in some time and she found herself giggling at the incessant noise coming from her empty stomach.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would love it in Paris. Sometime between India and France, Lavanya had decided to make the best of this situation - Sharad would not have given her to a man he did not trust and she had to believe in that; it was not that he was without flaws, but no one was...and she would do her best to look past those flaws to the man that Sharad trusted.

The air was cool and moist, and she pulled her colorful shawl around her even more tightly. Her one piece of luggage was in her hands and she cared not that she was attracting numerous stares.

Her exotic caramel-colored skin, oceanic eyes, and dark, chocolate hair made her an oddity among the European culture – not to mention the colorful, sheer clothing she was wearing. They stared curtly at her passing form and commented on her apparel, most of them disapproving of her instantly.

Blissfully ignorant of the effect she was having on those around her, Lavanya pushed her way through crowd. Her eyes were drawn to a man who stood a head taller than anyone else in the crowd – and his eyes were on her. He was openly admiring her, but he seemed nervous about doing it and completely unsure of himself.

When he lifted his head, she found the most gorgeous, turquoise eyes staring back at her. He looked away from her and closed his eyes, and there appeared to be a rather strained look on his visible features.

The white mask on the right side of his face told her all that she needed to know; but Sharad had failed to tell her what a fine looking man Erik was. He was a full head taller than any man around, and the shape of his shoulders and arms indicated a strong build, although he was very lean. It was obvious, from the way he dressed, that he had excellent taste and was rather wealthy.

She was jolted from the surreal experience of finding his eyes on her by two strong, dirty hands coming around her waist. Foul breath filled her nostrils and she turned her head to avoid whatever stench was coming from the attacker's body.

Her struggles only seemed to infuriate him to the point of insanity, and he groped her legs and inner thighs while breathing boorishly down her neck. He had managed to move her through the crowd with a threat to her person, and he now had her pinned in a dark corner, hidden from the uncaring eyes of the other people.

His hand came up and grabbed her chin, forcing her eyes to look upon him. He was a few inches taller than she was and as strong as an ox – and he even smelled like one. His eyes were empty and wild; bloodshot and dilated – he was obviously drunk on whiskey and lust.

She was shocked to realize that no one seemed the least bit concerned by her struggles – except Erik. She caught a glimpse of angry eyes and his dark figure pushing through the throng of people.

Her anger had surfaced by this point and her strength seemed to come from nowhere. She used his body as a brace and propelled her feet into the air, bringing her entire weight down into his knees; it was a technique that Sharad had taught her long ago.

Erik arrived just in time to see her take the advantage and he stopped abruptly to watch her bring the man down.

The injured man immediately released her and screamed like a pig at the slaughter. He was on the ground, nursing his sore knees, when Lavanya ushered another kick against his ribs.

He tried to catch her leg, but his pain was too great and he simply crawled away from her. She meant to follow and deliver more damage, but Erik grabbed the man by the collar of his filthy shirt and hung him up in front of him like a bag of potatoes.

"It seems to me, you have been taught a lesson here, have you learned anything?"

There was no response and the Erik jerked the man to him, close enough to smell the fear that resonated from him and the stench of rot.

He listened closely to the vulgar words that the filthy, little man was uttering about the woman who was possessed and obviously in league with the devil.

"Well, I suppose that makes me the devil…if you intend to leave here with all of your parts attached, I suggest you do so before she fancies another kick or two."

Although he was literally dangling in mid-air, the ruffian spat in Erik's face and laughed in the face of fear. His next words were strained through clenched teeth.

"She is a whore, what is it to you if I have a go at her?"

Erik curled his lips into a snarling smile and threw the man onto the ground in the direction of the crowded street. He could see Annette pushing through the crowd with two policemen following close behind.

"The _lady_ is my intended…" Erik seethed, "…now, **_if_**…" his laugh crackled with contempt, "…and I use that word loosely, for your willingness to cooperate will determine my next course of action…" he paused again, "…**_if_ **you wish to keep all of your body parts, you will remove yourself , posthaste, from the premises and never let me lay eyes on you again…is that understood?"

Erik proceeded to release the slimy, little man and watched as he crawled on the ground, pulling himself along with his elbows and looking back at Erik's slowly advancing figure. Erik stopped at the edge of the alley and watched the man slowly stand and limp painfully toward the two policemen.

Lavanya was still breathing hard from the adrenalin rush. Her instincts had taken over and the training Sharad had given her forced her to take action.

His words to the filthy, little man suddenly came back to her; he had called her his intended…she looked up at him as he came to her. She smiled brightly; but as quickly as it had appeared, it faded.

He had stood there and let her fight that man…oddly enough, part of her was pleased with that, but the other part of her could not believe what he had done.

He was no more than inches from her when her hand swept up and smacked him across the open cheek.

"You stood there and let me be accosted….what kind of man are you?"

_She slapped me! No woman has even laid a hand on me…good or bad_.

Completely shocked and wondering what he had done, Erik rubbed the sore cheek and then realized what she had said.

"Excuse me?" He asked sharply, staring daggers into her. "For your information, by the time I arrived, you were landing your feet against his shins and sending the man to his knees!"

He smirked dangerously; lifting one side of his delicious mouth and making Lavanya want to slap him again – just for being too appealing.

"And did you not hear him…I am no man, I am the devil."

He loomed over her much smaller form and created a block to the rays of the sun. His whole body was alive with unbridled fury, but he kept it controlled and civil…what would it be like to face this man when he was not so…caged.

He made her blood boil – those eyes, that mouth, the anger coursing through him – such passion!! So…this was Erik Lacroix…interesting, very interesting.

"You appeared to have the situation under control, Mademoiselle Keshav…it was quite a treat to watch you move."

His dangerous tone with the village idiot had made her spine tingle. He was much younger than she had thought he would be, and far more attractive than she wanted him to be.

She loved the verbal sparring they engaged in and the sharp bite of his tongue.

He would be a joy to discuss things with – his sharp mind shined through his eyes and Lavanya could see his emotions on his face.

"Nonetheless, a gentleman should have helped me."

Erik laughed aloud; strong and vibrant; deep and intoxicating, "Believe me, if I had seen a gentleman, I would have encouraged him to help you…but there was only me…" he winked and then stood to his full height and moved away from her, "…and I have never claimed to be gentleman."

Despite his quick barbs and sharp tongue, Lavanya sensed an intense loneliness in him. She softened her brow and studied him again.

"You did quite a fine job of putting that man in his place…impressive." Erik remarked, with an admirably cool tone.

She lifted her perfectly carved brow and regarded him from beneath long, dark lashes.

"My brother made sure I could defend myself, if need be."

Erik could not help but be impressed with her strength of character and lack of female frivolity. She did not seem the kind that was prone to fainting spells or swooning; he looked away from her, trying not to dwell on the immediate and profound attraction he felt toward her.

It was at that exact moment that her tummy sounded loudly with another grumble and she blushed profusely from the knowledge that he had heard it.

"You must be famished…"

He did not get the opportunity to finish that sentence, as an older woman intruded on his words.

"Erik, thank the Lord that you were able to stop that ruffian from assaulting this lovely young woman!"

Lavanya noted the older woman and bowed to touch her feet in a typical Indian greeting. As she arose, she saw the shocked but amused look on the woman's face.

"It is a typical greeting, Annette…just accept it." Erik explained.

Lavanya touched her eyes to his and smiled, the woman had just confirmed her earlier thoughts; he _was_ Erik Lacroix – the man who would soon be her husband. Once again, her eyes raked his tall, masculine frame and her thoughts were suddenly in another place altogether.

_He likes a strong woman; and he knows my culture – two positives – oh yes, and he is quite attractive. _

"You are mistaken though, I did not…"

"My dear, are you alright?"

Madam Giry completely ignored Erik's stuttered words and concentrated on the woman she thought he had rescued.

Lavanya smiled at the woman's enthusiastic care.

"Yes, I am fine, thank you."

Erik doggedly moved closer and avoided eye contact with the young woman; but he had to set the record straight.

"Actually, Annette, this is Lavanya Keshav, the young woman we have been sent here to retrieve and it was not I that rescued her – she seems to be quite adept at taking care of herself."

Annette looked from one to the other and finally just smiled.

"Very good, my dear, some men just must be handled roughly or they do not understand the rules or the boundaries."

The two women shared a strong, friendly smile and Erik bowed his head and stood quietly by as they talked.

"How was the voyage by sea…did you run into any trouble?"

Lavanya shook her head and thanked the older woman for asking, but she was really getting quite lightheaded from the hunger.

Erik heard her stomach growl once more and lifted his doleful eyes. He noticed how she seemed very much at ease with Annette, but nervous and rather spiteful toward him. Of course, he supposed he should have helped her, and he would have, had she been in any real danger – but she was fascinating to watch as she took care of the situation.

When she caught him looking, Erik immediately diverted his eyes to another area – he hoped she would never know that he found her extremely attractive; all he would allow himself was her friendship – anything more, and she would hate him forever.

"Annette, Lavanya is quite famished, I suggest we take our lunch at the Chateau d'lamier, just down the street.

He retrieved Lavanya's one piece of luggage and helped them both into the waiting carriage.

"I will get tickets for a later train and we will just arrive in Paris a little later than was originally planned."

Erik proceeded to the ticket booth and quickly bought their tickets. He could not get another train to Paris until 4:00 pm, but was happy to get those tickets. He made sure they had two private compartments.

He led the way to the restaurant and sequentially pulled chairs out for the ladies to sit. He seated himself and smiled when he heard another growl come from Lavanya's stomach.

He looked up to find her coyly watching him and blushing profusely – something Erik found very endearing and impossible to dismiss.

♠♣♥♦

The meal was a quiet affair. Erik moved his food from one side of the plate to the next, not even bothering to take a bite. He was enjoying the chance to listen to Annette and Lavanya get acquainted.

His mind wandered as his eyes landed on Lavanya's exquisite feminine features; the way her mouth moved and the warm, sun-kissed, amber of her skin. She literally had an inner glow.

_She came into the room, wearing a lavender sari; her hair hung over her shoulders and draped her magnificent breasts in grandeur. She had eyes only for him. _

_"Your beauty is unsurpassed; I have never seen its equal." _

_She dropped her sultry lashes over her chartreuse eyes and lifted the corners of her sensual lips – drawing him further into her seductive trap. _

_She did not speak to him as she rested her hands on either side of his face…not caring that he was not a whole man, for he possessed a gnarled visage that few had been able to stomach. _

_His eyes drifted shut. He had almost forgotten the warmth of the human touch…its drugging impact on his starving flesh driving him to a point of near insanity. _

_She eased onto his lap, and his head lulled back over the plush luxury of the pillow; his masculine groan bringing a smile to her lush lips . _

_His hands instinctively traveled the velvet delicacy of her lower back – marveling at the way she crooned; a sensual, low sound that caused a rigid hardening of his lower body. _

_Her laughter filled his ears and he… _

_Laughter…why was she laughing? _

Erik's eyes widened and he released a long breath to ease his racing heart. Disturbed by what had just happened – Erik mentally berated himself. This would not do – not at all. He was not one prone to daydreaming; in fact, this was the only time that he could remember indulging in such whimsical nonsense.

Lavanya was obviously responding to something Annette had said and her laughter was what had forced him out of his dream-like state. He was uncomfortably aware of the growing erection he hid beneath the table and shifted in his chair – hoping it looked natural.

He frowned and began moving his food around on his plate again, unaware that they had both turned to look at him.

"Why do you order food, Erik…you never eat it?"

Annette asked the question to involve him, in some way, in the conversation.

He glared at her, knowing exactly what she was trying to do.

"I do so; I am just not hungry right now."

Annette reached over and grasped Lavanya's petite hand; her smile was very matronly.

"He does not eat very well; it is a fact that has troubled me for years. A man his size should eat healthy servings and demand more – but not him."

Erik rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth – he was going to have to have a talk with his friend – she was overstepping his well-constructed boundaries.

"I eat when I am hungry, Annette." He snorted, rather assertively.

"Maybe, but you must get hungry more often than once every two or three days."

Instead of answering her or coming up with some excuse, Erik pulled his watch out of his breast pocket and frowned.

"We really must be going; I need to purchase some personal items before we get board the train."

"How long is the trip?" Lavanya asked, meeting his eyes with confidence.

Erik moved his eyes over her features, staggered at how beautiful she was – her strong personality is what had captured his attention – but she was stunning to look at.

For most men, that would have been a blessing, but Erik did not want to feel anything for this woman…it was not that he didn't want to feel anything – he would truly love to be her friend, if she would allow it. He assumed he would need some kind of rapport with her if he actually managed to ask her to have a baby with him.

"About nine hours; however, the only other train bound for Paris today, makes several stops and the trip had been extended to fifteen hours. As a result, we will not be in Paris until tomorrow morning at around seven."

She smiled and nodded, suddenly seeming very young to him. This entire ordeal was completely unfair to her. Her beauty should have afforded her a husband of her choosing – with a handsome face, a title, wealth beyond imagination – a future….what did he have to offer her?

As he assisted them both out of their chairs, he tried not to focus on the very prominent curves that were teasingly hidden beneath her sari – but given enough emphasis to make a man's body bolt to attention.

"May I ask - if it is not too presumptuous of me, how old you are, Mademoiselle Keshav?

She faltered only briefly, and then smiled, "I am twenty-four at the moment; I will be twenty-five in three months."

Erik nodded and turned his head toward the window.

"So young…" He whispered to himself, "…too young."

His words were uttered low and painfully, causing Lavanya to take another look at him. He closed himself off from the world – not physically – but emotionally. He buried himself beneath layers of clothing and hid behind that wretched mask. He wore his self-detestation like another layer – one she hoped to strip away with each word or deed.

He was a work in progress, and Lavanya was determined to be up to the task.

_Someone had hurt him deeply in the past. The pain in his eyes speaks to me of betrayal and misunderstandings; he feels no self-worth. _

He guided them to a small merchant shop not far down the road.

"If either of you sees something you need, just let the shopkeeper know, he will be happy to get it for you." Erik instructed, "I will be back in a few moments to complete the purchase."

Lavanya tried to keep her eyes averted, but she could not get over the ease with which he moved. Normally, taller men were a bit awkward and gangly – not quite comfortable with their own height. Not Erik, he seemed used to his height and more than capable of displaying great control.

Annette smiled as she noticed the amount of interest that she was giving Erik's retreating figure. Annette followed her line of vision and admitted – once again – that Erik was very pleasing to the eyes.

_I know I have told him as much, but he just thinks I am humoring him. Perhaps this woman beside me will be able to convince him. _

"Madam, do you think he will allow me to purchase these reams of material – they are exquisite?"

They had been wandering through the shop looking at various items and Annette had picked out a brush and comb set for Meg to add to her collection; a Celtic necklace for Tarrah, and a barrette for Christine's hair. She had also found an adorable little outfit for Christine's baby.

The lighter of the two materials shimmered with interwoven gold threads, elaborate stitching and the purest of whites accenting it.

There was also a smooth, soft, black material with gold threads woven in. Both of the materials were quite new and Annette was quite sure they were the newest types available for purchase.

"I am sure Erik would…."

"You are sure I would what?"

Erik stood behind them, amused at hearing his name thrown around as though he was not present. He moved his eyes between the two women and could not help the tug of a smile that curved his lips on one side.

His sudden appearance did not stir Annette in any way, and she simply stared at him with a composed calmness.

"Lavanya wants to purchase these materials and she was wondering if you would mind…I told her you would not."

Erik looked down at the yards of material both ladies had in their arms.

"You may have whatever you wish."

They made their purchases and walked back the two blocks to the train station. They boarded and made their way to their private cabins; Erik took one and Annette and Lavanya took the other; they were joined by a sitting area.

Erik had purchased the latest adventure novel by Jules Verne, "The Mysterious Island.", a book called "Erewhon" – although he was not sure who the author was, and a deck of cards. He entered the sitting area and planted himself in a seat. He propped his booted feet up on the adjacent seat and proceeded to immerse himself in his book.

For the next three hours, he read and they dozed. Everything would have been fine, if he had not glanced up when Lavanya stirred.

She was the picture of innocence and alluring womanhood as he ran his eyes down her body. There was no mistaking the outline of her full breasts beneath her sari. The choli beneath it hugged her generous curves and Erik groaned in frustration as his body began to react again.

_What is wrong with me? I do not even know her – other than the fact that she will be my wife and she is Sharad's sister. _

He smiled as recent events came to mind, o_h yes, and the fact that she can defend herself quite effectively against a man not much smaller than me. _

Admiring her again, he noticed that her hair spilled over her shoulders like a waterfall of rare beauty; whatever was he going to do?

Her eyes opened and Erik immediately put his eyes to his book – feigning interest in its content. He crossed his legs to hide the distinct bulge in his pants and swallowed with difficulty, hoping she had not noticed.

"What time is it?" She asked.

Erik nonchalantly pulled his watch from his pocket and grazed his eyes over the face.

"It is a little past nine."

She yawned and leaned on her fisted hand, appearing to be very tired, even after sleeping for the last few hours.

"I apologize for my inability to keep my eyes open – I did not sleep well while on the boat…they make me very uneasy."

Erik nodded in understanding, knowing what they did to him.

"It is quite alright, my lady; you may retire for the evening if you would like. I am sure you are quite fatigued."

His voice could lull her back to sleep, that was for sure. He spoke with such masculine splendor and it made her heart do a strange flutter.

She stood up, placed her hand in front of her face, and bowed her head in respect.

Erik returned the gesture, knowing the Indian custom and stood as she retreated to her cabin. Annette stirred from her slumber and said her good nights to Lavanya.

"Erik, I am sorry – I did not realize I was so tired."

Erik smirked and looked back down to his book.

"It is fine, Annette – I realize you are getting along in years."

She gasped and looked around for something to throw at him, but there was nothing readily available.

Erik chuckled at her frustrated pout and closed his book. He sighed, which exasperated her even more, and teasingly stated,

"Do cheer up, Annette, you know I would just move out of the way of whatever you found to throw at me and your attempt at revenge would be unfulfilling; so, do stop pouting and let us play some Gin Rummy."

She smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as he shuffled the cards and dealt them.

"She is quite lovely, Erik…and such a darling."

They had sat quietly for a few minutes and before Annette decided to broach the subject that she knew was on his mind.

He did not lift his eyes, but kept them hooded behind the shroud of his long lashes.

"Really?" He remarked absently, "I had not noticed."

Annette smirked and shook her head, she knew otherwise but refused to rile him at this moment – he was in a pleasant mood for a change, and she intended to enjoy it.

They talked about many things, including Erik's latest opera and his plans for Tarrah, but she could tell that he was preoccupied with thoughts that terrified him; he had no idea how he was going to handle the woman that had been dropped into his life, and the thought terrorized him.

When his watch said eleven-thirty, Annette lost her last game and bid him goodnight. Erik sat for a few minutes, wondering how he could keep her out of his mind at night, if he could not manage to do so during the light of day.

He decided to read for another hour or two and finally put his book away and found his cramped bed at one-thirty in the morning. With any luck, being as tired as he was, he would find sleep easily.

Sure….that was the answer.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22 Trains, Carriages, and Women

Congrats to Aishwarya Rai (the model for Lavanya) on her upcoming nuptials...what a beautiful bride she will make.

Thank you to all the new reviewers, you are most welcome and your opinion matters. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to read my drivelings; what a special treat for me!!

Special thanks to my beta, Mlle.Fox, for all her hard work, suggestions, words of encouragement, words of constructive criticism; and most of all, for her friendship. You're the best!!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 22

Jolted from his uncomfortable position on the makeshift bed, Erik grunted as he slammed against the floor with a resounding thud. He cast a hateful look at the small cavity in which he had tried to rest, but his long frame just did not fit comfortably into the cramped quarters.

Mumbling something racy under this breath, he finally recovered and stood up, only to knock his head against the low-hanging pole that secured the luggage. Expletives - colorful and noteworthy – flew from his beautiful lips with an ease he did not know he possessed.

It was a good thing that the ladies were not present, or he would have been six shades of red. He rubbed the soar bump that formed on top of his head and rolled his eyes. What a morning it was starting out to be. He hoped this did not set the mood for the rest of the day.

He had slept fitfully – if at all – and the haunting beauty of his soon-to-be wife prevented him from doing anything comfortably.

He hung his head in disgust as he stood in front of the small mirror, trying to do something with the mutinous waves of his gleaming, sable hair. Dark, deep eyes stared back at him with a disgusted scowl.

How many times had he dreamed of her through the night? More than he cared to remember. It seemed one scenario ended and another began, in close succession. He would wake up in a sweat with a distinct tent in his pants from his painful erection.

After what seemed like the hundredth time, he stayed awake; berating and chastising himself until the sun began to peak over the passing landscape.

This was where he found himself…looking at his unshaved, putrescent features and louring into the mirror.

He mumbled – calling himself every derogatory name in his vast vocabulary – covering the four languages he spoke fluently – but he still felt no better once the task was done.

Never mind the fact that he was trying to dry shave while he did this and the razor stretched his stubble to the point of yanking it out by the roots; he finally finished and felt blessed to have escaped the ordeal with no visible cuts.

Flustered, and suffering a burgeoning headache, he donned a clean, crisp shirt – dressed in all the usual finery, secured his mask in place, and vehemently threw the door open.

He cautiously entered the sitting area where he was greeted by two questioning sets of eyes and arched brows; it was apparent that they had heard much of his ranting.

He favored them both with tired, irritated eyes and arched his chiseled brow.

"We will be arriving in Paris in about twenty minutes, are you both ready?"

"We _have_ been ready for a couple of hours, Erik."

The small compartment had never seemed as small as it did at that particular moment. His air supply seemed to shrink drastically and he wanted to pull at his shirt collar to rid himself of the suffocating feeling that swept over him.

Despite the sleep that was still evident in her ethereal eyes, Lavanya managed to look stunning and Erik's blood stirred – making him even more frustrated. He rolled his eyes and frowned.

_I am a dead man…this whole ordeal is going to be the death of me. _

They heard a knock on the outer door, and then a voice informed them of the next stop. It was time to gather luggage and get ready to get off the train.

♥♦♣♠

Lavanya watched as Erik carried the luggage and remained quiet and aloof as they got into a very elaborate carriage. He seemed rather gloomy and brooding most of the time, but there were brief glimpses of a sharp wit and caged genius that Lavanya found extremely intriguing.

He suddenly turned to her and spoke, filling the carriage with the timbre of his smooth baritone.

"I have recently moved back to Paris from London. The home I have purchased will be sufficient for your needs, I hope." He dropped his voice and looked away, surveying the passing scenery, "You may move in at once and I will follow after we are wed in a few days."

"So soon?" Lavanya asked, a brisk shiver of panic invading her bones.

Erik released a beleaguered sigh and stared at her through reproachful eyes. Her hopeful tone made his wounded heart sink lower in his chest and the demon of self-doubt careened his confidence.

"Mademoiselle Keshav, it was your brother's request that I either wed you, or take you as my ward…." His tone was measured and rational, and Lavanya sensed she had hurt him in some way, "...it is unfortunate that this was thrust upon you."

Erik paused in mid-thought, having realized that she was not totally willing to go through with the marriage. She had undoubtedly had enough time in Marseille and on the train to conclude that he was not worthy of her and that the prospect of marriage to him was a ghastly one.

He cleared his throat and lifted doleful eyes to the ceiling, avoiding her disturbingly alluring presence. When he drew his gaze back to her, his entire demeanor was as cool and polished as the masked side of his face.

"I already have a ward; Tarrah…and she is probably the closest thing I will ever have to a child of my own…" he felt his heart wretch from the knowledge that he could not possibly ask her to bear his child…she could not even stomach the thought of marrying him. "…however, I know that the idea of marriage to me is distasteful; therefore, if you consent to it, I will become your benefactor..."

Lavanya realized that his opinion of himself was not an attempt to garner sympathy from those around him; he actually despised himself, and her hesitancy had only compounded his belief that he was nothing more than a monster.

"….Sharad has sent a telegraph informing me that he will be staying indefinitely in Morocco…" Erik's lips finally quirked into a half-smile, "…something about a doe-eyed, Egyptian temptress who has captured his heart."

Lavanya had not doubted that he would find a woman to warm his bed as soon as he was no longer under their father's greedy watch.

"I do not mean to sound ungrateful for all that you are doing…I just do not…"

Erik narrowed his guarded eyes; not appreciating her implication and did not allow her to finish her sentence. He spoke with a scathing tone and tragic resignation.

"I assure you, my lady…" he spat, "…your gratitude is both unwarranted and unneeded…"

Bitterness stung each word and Lavanya felt it enter her very soul. She knew she had unintentionally hurt him, but he made it impossible to apologize. She would fight his fierce temper with her own turbulent nature.

"Are you always this rude or is this charming display for my benefit only?"

He narrowed his eyes and looked away. This woman had slapped him and now she mocked him…he could say nothing for fear his rage would get the better of him. He wore a look upon his face that was schooled in indifference, and did not say a word.

"You had so much to say about yourself a few moments ago – no matter how untrue - and now you do not wish to talk? You are a puzzle to me, Mr. Lacroix."

He did not respond, but remained a dark splotch against the light of sun - crouched against the seat and brooding perfectly.

Annette did not know what to make of the situation. She had clamped her mouth shut after Lavanya had opened hers and was amazed at how Erik allowed her to talk to him – not that he didn't deserve it – but women just did not talk to men that way.

Annette had also heard the unwillingness in Lavanya's words – she did not desire marriage – at least not yet; and Erik assumed she would never consent to being married to him of all people. She had watched as his dreams of a baby had been dashed and the new light in his eyes that had begun to glow at the prospect of a baby, vanished.

Erik sulked; he knew she was right, he had been purposefully rude and obnoxious to her, but he did not want to feel anything – and right now – he was failing miserably. It was painfully obvious that she had never seriously considered marriage – at least not to him. To hide the ache in his heart, he lashed out and hid the pain behind a mask of fierce indignation.

Nothing more was said, but Erik seethed inside – pushing away any and all desire he felt toward her; he could not afford the pain and heartache that would accompany the attraction.

Lavanya was trying to hide her guilty eyes; she knew that she had caused him great pain, but she needed him to understand that he had to stop jumping to conclusions about her. She would wed him – that much she would do – and she would do it willingly. However, there would be no intimacy at first…he would have to court her and she him before they shared each other.

On the train that morning, Madam Giry had enlightened her about a few things as they had waited for Erik to emerge from his cabin…

FLASHBACK

_"He is very mysterious; I am assuming you have noticed this about him." Annette was nervously chattering at the young woman, not offering her much opportunity to respond and Lavanya listened avidly. _

_"I do not know very much about his early years – they are a shadow in his eyes, even after all these years. _

_"He has been away from us for four years, following a personally painful event, and has just recently returned to _ _Paris__." _

_"Where has he been?" _

_Annette smiled at the young woman. _

_"He has been in _ _London__…working at the opera house there." _

_"How long have you known him?" _

_"It has been fourteen years now…and you would be surprised to see how far he has come." Annette remembered, "He has never had any friends – except me, of course – and he has been an outcast for as far back as he can remember because people fear the unknown…the concealed…" Annette's thoughts turned inward as she remembered the night she and Erik had literally stumbled upon each other. _

_Lavanya reflected on the older woman's words; troubled by the connotation that he was mistreated because of whatever was behind the mask the he wore. _

_"I take it from your own words that he has little experience with women…" _

_Annette smiled and lightly scoffed, "I would change that to NO experience with women…" she announced, "…he has never allowed anyone close to him except for once…" the older woman frowned softly, "and that ended badly for him." _

_Lavanya wanted to ask for further detail, but she knew it would have to be Erik who filled in the blanks. _

_"Does he have any family?" _

_Annette closed her eyes and shook her head, "No…but I do not know the details surrounding that, either." _

END FLASHBACK

She had not learned everything she wanted to know, but Lavanya had learned a great deal…Erik Lacroix was a fascinating man – brilliant, brooding, bitter, jaded, and arrestingly attractive.

She needed the chance to explain her intentions…she had not met to make him think he was not husband material – he was quite the contrary, actually.

The carriage came to a jostling stop and Erik proceeded out of the carriage. He turned to help them both down and was shocked when Lavanya stumbled and landed against him with force; her breasts pressed against his hard chest and her hands clasped his muscled biceps.

_He is very well built – strong, confident arms and large, beautifully formed hands. _Lavanya thought. _He need never know that I stumbled on purpose…_ she grinned sheepishly.

Erik quickly placed her on her feet and adjusted his coat; however, there were other parts of him, which needed immediate attention; he swiftly moved away from her and toward the door of their home.

Before he could reach it however, it flew open and an enthusiastic and out of control Tarrah threw herself into his arms and kissed his cheek with ardor.

"I sure missed ye, ye ol' grump." She teasingly stated; emphasizing her Irish brogue.

Erik had no choice but to wrap his arms around her as she dangled from his neck like a rag doll. He marveled in her open affection – and suddenly realized how much he needed her hug.

"Tarrah, you are getting too big for this, you are going to snap my head completely off my shoulders."

She pouted briefly as he set her on her feet and then smiled again when she spied Lavanya. It was obvious that she was curious about the young woman whose arms had been wrapped around her soon-to-be husband and whose lips had touched his cheek.

"I do no' think I could do that, Erik, ye are far too strong."

She winked at him and he rolled his eyes at her before strolling further into the house and putting the luggage down.

"Since he is no' going to introduce me…" Tarrah teased.

"I would if you would let me get a word in…" Erik announced with a frown.

"I am Tarrah Sheldon, his ward." She smiled brightly.

Lavanya could not help the smile that spread across her face. S_he loves him deeply; probably as an older brother or a very young father figure; he is obviously not aware of her feelings and would not accept them even if he were. _

"Hello Tarrah, I am Lavanya Keshav."

"I ha' been looking forward to yer comin' since we go' the letter…" she glanced over at Erik, finding him several feet away and discussing something of the utmost importance with the butler. "…he is a bit frayed at the edges, but well worth the effort."

Tarrah winked at Lavanya and grinned, hoping to put the beautiful woman at ease.

"Are all the women of this country allowed an education, as you have been?"

"It is still not normal practice…Erik teaches me – reading, writing, arithmetic, music, history, art – everything; he insists that I have a well-rounded education."

Lavanya was pleasantly surprised by that answer; he insisted that this young woman get an education and maintain her individuality, rather than become the mindless twit of some overbearing ogre.

"'Knowledge is power…' he says to me, '…and women have it, they just need to assert it.' Those are his words to me every time that I feel like collapsing under the weight of each day…he is my father, my brother, my friend, and my teacher….and whether he believes it or not, I love him."

Lavanya nodded knowingly at the conviction in her voice. She was very protective of Erik – Lavanya could see it in her eyes and hear it in her voice.

Erik had finished instructing the new butler on where to have the meager luggage delivered; he walked back toward Lavanya and Tarrah, noting the glint in both their eyes.

_Good, maybe they will become friends and I will not have to worry about Mademoiselle Keshav growing restless and bored. _

"This is your home, my lady; I hope you find it to your liking as you become acquainted with it. I have hired an entire staff to be at your disposal – I am paying them well to anticipate your every need."

His words came across as business-like and remote, and his manner was not much better. It was evident that her lack of enthusiasm over marriage was wearing on him. Some of the spirit was out of his voice, and he seemed to lack the energy and the desire to feign it.

She realized that the hard, sour front he displayed was a charade – a mask used to cover up the vulnerable man who was in such need of love, but never expected to have it.

So why was he so incredibly defensive and aloof toward her?

She knew she was attractive, it was not a matter of conceit; but the knowledge she had grown up with – thanks to her dear mother and wonderful brother. She knew that Erik found her attractive – she could see the proof in his eyes…when he let his guard down.

"It is already a castle compared to my residence in India." She offered. "Your grounds are quite lovely and this manor is extraordinary."

Erik bowed formally, in thanks to her compliment. He motioned to the broad, marble staircase leading to the floor with her sleeping quarters, washroom, and dressing room.

He led the way up the stairs and Lavanya was fascinated with watching him move; fluid and graceful – like a swan in the water.

"Are you a dancer, my lord?"

The title startled him, and he stopped mid-way up the stairs and turned to look at her. He furrowed his brow, lifted his chin, stared down the exposed side of his strong, straight nose.

"I do hope you have not been led to believe that I am titled, for I am not…" he emphasized – and then realized his tone was abrupt, "…and no, I am _not_ a dancer." he answered in a softer voice. He lifted his lips in a sideways smirk, "…but I am sure that I _could_ dance, should the opportunity ever present itself."

Lavanya pursed her lips and furrowed her brow in confusion. She had to think about what she had said and then smiled in relief.

"Oh, forgive me…" she giggled at her faux pas, "…you are the lord of this manor, are you not…that is why I referred to you in that way."

His features relaxed, but he did not seem any more convinced.

"Actually…" He smirked endearingly, making him suddenly appear several years younger. "…I bought the manor for you." His alert eyes swept over his surroundings and he still had the smirk on his face. "Tarrah and Annette insisted that it was perfect – and I must agree."

He continued to climb the stairs, completely unaware of her stunned features.

"If it is not to your liking, I will expect you to tell me so that you may pick out another one."

She had been a couple of steps behind him when he had last looked back, but suddenly her hand was grasping his and he stopped and spun around quickly – almost colliding with her willowy frame.

"The manor is beautiful and all that goes with it…thank you..." She murmured. "…and I wish to apologize for earlier – it would be better for us to marry quickly – Sharad and you have already arranged this, and I see no reason to delay."

The look in her eyes made Erik glance away in confusion; he was certain he was misreading her. Even though his eyes were seeing her fingers interlocked with his, it was difficult for him to understand her willing touch.

He smiled at her, but Lavanya saw a glimpse of regret cross his features.

"Actually, Sharad did the arranging – I just opened the letter." He tried to look settled and even managed a smile, but the uncertainty still filled his eyes. "I will try to make this as pleasant as possible for you…I give you my word as a gentleman."

She cocked her head at him, remembering the previous day's events. They had made it down the hall and stood beside what was to be her room.

"I have no doubt that you can be a gentleman, my lord…but I get the impression that you much prefer playing the rogue."

His green eyes danced with a hint of mischief, "It is much easier playing the rogue; then I do not disappoint those around me by acting like a rogue." He stated with a devilish brow.

Before she could comment, he pulled his watch from his fob pocket and stared at the face, it was rather late in the afternoon and he had not slept well on the train – cramped as he had been. He was certain that Mademoiselle Keshav was in need of rest as well.

"I am sure you are exhausted; and I find I have no stomach for traveling anymore…" he chuckled quietly and turned to leave, "…we can talk some more later."

She watched as he turned away from her, but she was not ready to part with him…not yet.

"Is there any way I could possibly impose on you to show me the grounds and stables?" Lavanya stated, with a hint of mirth.

He was quite eager to do just that, actually. He did want to introduce her to the property and to D'Ombre…although the stallion was rather head-strong – but Erik was certain the woman was familiar with horses.

"Erik?"

He startled only slightly and lifted his stormy eyes to her inquiring ones.

"I have ordered a bath drawn for you. After you finish, I will take you for a tour…" he suggested, "…do you ride?"

He asked, hoping that she did, but unsure of what to do about it. For now, the only horse he owned was D'Ombre; he had taken the liberty of ordering one for her - but she was not available for delivery.

Lavanya walked toward him causing his eyes to drop to her provocative, swaying hips. He steeled his body and meant her unwavering gaze.

"Not well…but I could ride with you."

Erik pulled his head back and raised his brow in surprise.

"You would have to be rather close to me?" He reminded her. "Are you certain?"

The real question was, was he certain?

She nodded with a scintillating lift at one corner of her mouth.

"I will return all squeaky clean and ready to ride."

Her words held double meaning and Erik's mind immediately went the way of the ribald. He cursed himself and decided he needed a tepid bath to cool his raging hormones - or a warm one to help relieve them.

On this rare occasion, he opted for the latter.

♥♦♣♠

Lavanya shared a satisfied smirk with herself. He was certainly not immune to her; that was quite evident. He possessed a raw power and unbridled manliness that Lavanya had never seen before – he was passionate and powerful, innocent and sensual, broken and beautiful – and he would soon be hers.

Mr. Tibbs carried her luggage into the room, and she stood inside the door of her living quarters; stunned at the heavenly beauty of it. Pure white walls with pale green accents graced the entire place. The bed was extraordinary – plush and large – draped with pale green and white sheets, comforter, bed skirt, pillow shams – everything.

The floors were hard wood with area rugs from India placed in certain areas around the rooms. Pictures adorned the walls, beautiful pictures of mountains and lakes – and many of her homeland.

The initials on the paintings were M.E.L. She turned to Mr. Tibbs and smiled as he started to turn and leave the room.

"Who is the artist, these paintings are spectacular?"

He smiled back, looking very fatherly and rather proud.

"The master did, my lady. He is an accomplished artist – among other things."

Lavanya sighed at his words and smiled again.

"The initials, M.E.L., what do they stand for?"

"Monsieur Erik Lacroix, my lady."

She nodded and dismissed him. She sunk beneath the soapy, fragrant water and smiled in pure pleasure…she could sure get used to this.

TBC


	23. Chapter 23 The Call of the Wild

I am thoroughly enjoying all of the reviews and hearing from readers that I have never heard from before - on any of my stories. Thank you very much.

To my faithful readers and reviewers, you are my heartbeat, and I appreciate you very much. I have heard from others that have come and gone, and then come back again - I am glad that this story brought you back - if only for a little while.

We have a long way to go yet, so buckle up and hold on!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 23

As he readied for his bath, Erik went back over the conversation they had just shared. Could he do it? Could he marry this woman knowing that she was simply doing her brother's bidding?

She had said she would marry him, but she was given little choice in the matter. For him, however, this had been an opportunity to have an heir of his own – until he saw her. No…she would never consort with one such as he and he could never ask it of her.

Of course, this knowledge only made the deep attraction he felt toward her that much more difficult to face. How would he handle being near her each day and knowing she could not be his in every sense of the word?

He would have the solace of his room and his music – as he always did. He had taken care of such needs in the past and he would continue to do so.

Although he had seldom indulged in such an act, desperate times called for desperate measures. He ran the bath and the eased into the water; his thoughts centered on the aching need that pounded through him.

His head hung back, resting on the edge of the tub as the steam from the water floated around him. He slipped into a dream-like state and felt his body react to her image as it played with with his senses.

In a matter of hours, she had reduced him to this…a pitiful, desperate monster reduced to satisfying the uncontrollable flow of desire that was making its way down his body and pooling in his groin.

He pushed himself beneath the water and held steady – hoping by some miracle he would suffocate; but he knew that was not the answer. He flung himself through the surface of the water and threw his head back; water flew from everywhere – from the rims of the tub and from the tips of his dark hair.

He grabbed the cake of soap and began scrubbing – hoping to remove all the remnants of his daydreams and nocturnal stirrings.

They had been so vivid that he could feel her hands upon him – he could smell the exotic Indian oils in which she bathed her tawny skin – he could hear the soft quiver of her voice begging him for release.

He ran the soap up his chest, over his hardened male nipple, and hissed at the erotic bolt of energy that shot straight to his rigid arousal. His eyes floated shut and he gave the same treatment to the other tight nub.

The natural course of his hand circled his erection, lathing the soap over its soft skin and downward over the large, tight sacks that swelled with his need. His hips swelled with the pressure of his own hand and he moaned as pleasure waves tingled over him.

He surged into his hand as he forgot the soap and firmly gripped his aching, throbbing staff. His movements were slow and controlled at first, building the ravenous yearning that he was powerless to ignore.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and used his free hand to massage the swollen peaks of his nipples; touching himself in ways that he was certain no woman had ever wanted to touch him. He hated that he had to resort to such means – but he could bear it no longer.

His pace became frenzied as he felt his orgasm approaching – he had only engaged in this illicit act on a few other occasions – when he felt the untamed need overwhelm him; but it had not been often.

However, this time was different. Erik sensed the urgency in his body's demands – the stronger, more forceful compulsion of each pounding of his heart.

Even while his seed shot from his body and his own moans filled the room, Erik knew that this woman had stolen something from him already…his sanity, his good sense, his common decency…he just prayed it was not his heart.

♥♦♣♠

She slipped quickly down the stairs and was surprised to see that Erik was waiting for her in the parlor. He had bathed also and looked sinfully desirable and debonair in a black pair of riding pants; a long, puffy-sleeved, white shirt – which she noticed was unbuttoned quite far – much to her delight; and long riding boots.

He was certainly easy on the eyes; his body was well formed and very masculine, and he looked even more devilishly handsome with his damp, mane of waves that framed his face. The white half-mask was perfectly in place and he looked like the mischievous dark lover from one of the forbidden novels in which she had indulged.

Some of the tension seemed to be out of him; and he even smiled as she entered the room. He stood up and faced her, inclining his head in a greeting. He appeared taller than she had thought he was as he towered over her five-foot-seven frame.

"I am certain that D'Ombre is eager to meet you – as he has only had my dreary company for the past several years."

Lavanya smiled and followed as he led the way. He encouraged her to walk beside him toward the stables; but he seemed to be avoiding eye contact. Lavanya was determined to set things straight with him as soon as they sat down to talk.

As early afternoon approached, the day seemed to be turning quite lovely. What had started out as a rather drab morning had now turned bright with a slight breeze blowing the tips of the trees.

The stables were not far from the manor, and Lavanya enjoyed the easy walk down the trail. The stables looked newly painted and very well kept.

"I know I have already said it, but I want to reiterate how beautiful the grounds are, my lord…the manor is quite lovely."

He briefly lifted his eyes to hers and then looked down at the ground as his long strides carried him toward the stables.

"Please, call me Erik…." He corrected, "…and, thank you…I hope you will be happy here."

They entered the stables and D'Ombre whinnied as he saw his master approach. The black stallion pranced eagerly on the ground, anticipating a jaunt around the countryside.

"Hello, my boy, it has been a while…have you missed me as I have missed you?"

Lavanya watched Erik's easy show of emotions with the horse. He seemed more at ease around the handsome stallion than with anyone else. He crooned at the horse and patted his strong neck.

"This is Lavanya…"

Erik looked over at her and smiled broadly. Lavanya thought how much younger he seemed when he was preoccupied; he was not trying to hide himself in these surroundings – he was completely at home. His smile was breathtaking and she immediately found herself wanting to see it again.

"…now, do not get spoiled with this beautiful woman upon your back…I have already purchased a spry, young filly for her and she will arrive in a couple of days."

D'Ombre pulled his regal head up and Lavanya could have sworn the stallion grinned at his master.

Erik wagged a chiding finger at his long-time friend. "I did not purchase her for your enjoyment, old boy…" D'Ombre snorted at that comment, and Erik continued, "…besides, you would have to catch her first, and you are getting too old for such exertion."

Lavanya giggled at the antics Erik was sharing with his stallion. She marveled at the majestic beauty of the animal and his interaction with Erik. The two seemed as one – both of them proud, regal, and unyielding – but dependent on each other for companionship and acceptance.

"He is truly a magnificent animal, Erik – the two of you are fit for each other." Lavanya praised, "Thank you for purchasing one for me…but it was not necessary."

His name on her lips stirred him in ways he had hoped to avoid; he did not take his gaze from D'Ombre's warm, understanding eyes; but continued to brush the bristled hair and prepare the horse for riding.

"It is important that you have the freedom to roam as you desire, see the countryside and city, and make friends." Erik insisted. "You cannot do those things if you cannot get around."

She was ecstatic with the prospect of riding on her own; it was not a common practice in India – at least not in polite society.

Erik finished brushing the coat and traipsed over to the soft riding blanket that was drooped over the stall, brought it over to D'Ombre, and draped it over his back.

"I apologize for not purchasing a horse for you before now…to be perfectly honest; the thought never crossed my mind until yesterday."

"It is quite alright."

If Lavanya were to be completely honest, she would openly admit that the prospect of riding atop that beautiful steed with Erik behind her was a most enticing incentive for _not _having a horse of her own.

Erik gave her a reproachful glance, walked over to a sturdy bench, and extended his hand to her.

"Come, stand upon this bench and I will come beside you on his back."

She did as he asked and watched in fascination as Erik leapt onto the horses back. He wrapped his long, leanly muscled legs around the beast and sat straight and proud atop his equestrian friend.

He gently steered D'Ombre with his legs and eased up beside her. Erik extended his hand and she took it; the feel of his long fingers wrapping around her hand was inviting and intimate. He pulled her petite frame over the horses back and sat staunchly upright as she wiggled deeper into the cradle of his powerful thighs; sending Erik's blood racing to a part of his body that was barely concealed by the dangerously snug cut of his trousers.

He knew he was overreacting and mentally calmed his racing heart and pounding blood…it simply would not do for her to know of his attraction to her.

"Hold on to his mane if you feel insecure – he will not let you fall..."

She turned to look into his beryl eyes, mesmerized by their beauty. He was the smoldering libertine one minute – with his voice like molten velvet and a mouth perfectly fashioned for kissing and other even more illicit pleasures; and the next minute he was an austere, guileless boy-man with the most innocent eyes she had ever seen; a paradox on many levels.

"…trust me." He whispered.

She swallowed the rapid beat of her heart and smiled.

As they moved out of the stable in a slow walk and increased to a soft canter by the edge of the meadow, Lavanya had already locked onto Erik's thighs with her hands; unaware that her firm grip on his body was driving him to the edge of sanity.

By the time the ride was over, Erik had already envisioned her writhing body against his driving hips in almost every position he could imagine. Her body had molded against his with such exquisite perfection and he had actually wrapped an arm around her waist at one point – preventing a nasty tumble.

If one were to ask Erik what they had talked about, or how the weather was, he would most likely stumble over his answer with great difficulty. He had spent the entire hour dealing with his body's betraying desires and forcing his mind away from her cocoa-colored, lavender scented hair and the soft touch of her smile on his eyes.

The entire ordeal had been a test of Erik's resolve and he had passed – barely. The annoying strain of his erection against his pants had been most difficult to deal with throughout the entire ride, and even harder to disguise; especially when she insisted on pressing against him firmly.

"Thank you, Erik…I really enjoyed the ride and the scenery."

He reached up to help her down and she gracefully slid into his extended hands; they firmly gripped her waist, securing her safe return to the ground. She was amazed at how gentle and tender his touch could be.

"You are most welcome…." Erik stated, putting D'Ombre in his stall. "…now, I do believe we are to have tea in the great room."

He offered his arm and she took it. They walked slowly back to the manor, enjoying the fresh smell of the afternoon and the chance to escape the rigors of life.

She followed him into the great room, and noticed that Tarrah was nowhere to be found and the servants remained hidden; other than the housemaid who carried in the crescents, jelly, and tea. She scurried off as soon as her task was complete – leaving them alone, but with the door open.

He sat down in a large, cushioned chair and crossed his long, lean legs. Lavanya continued to admire the way he looked and the relaxed grace with which he carried himself.

He degraded himself constantly – with just about every word that left his mouth – and yet, he dressed elegantly, seemed to be meticulous about his appearance, and moved with an arrogant buoyancy that few men possessed.

Erik felt her eyes boring into him – making the tension in his body as tight as the bows on his violin. He could not proceed with this farce of a marriage without being completely honest with her.

"I am going to be frank with you, Mademoiselle Keshav; this mask conceals a deformity I have had since birth…a gift, I was told, from my father." He sank down into the brocaded sofa, reflecting back on the violent images that always accompanied thoughts of his father - a man he barely remembered, but whose shadowed, surly image remained etched on his brain.

The bitter pain in his voice was palpable and Lavanya felt her heart constrict. What had his father done to cause such an injury?

He swiftly removed the mask, but kept his left profile facing her; he was not quite ready to deal with the horror that would surely follow once she saw him.

"I warn you, I am quite hideous and few have been able to look past my ugliness and see a man and not a monster…I pray that once you have seen the horror that is my face, you will still assent to being my wife."

His eyes were turned so that his perfect side was all she saw, "Your brother was the first, and most likely, the only true friend I have ever had. I will not betray the trust he has put in me. Should you turn from me, I will still offer you my protection as your benefactor…even if it means my life."

He slowly turned toward her, allowing her a full view of his entire face. He was feeling physically ill, but knew this was the only way to move forward. His hands were visibly trembling as he swept pieces of his wavy, black hair from his eyes.

Lavanya did not gasp or balk in any way. She ran her eyes over each rippled line of flesh that rested upon his right cheek, temple, and forehead. The scars resembled melted skin, but Lavanya knew there had been no fire.

His nose was only slightly affected, as was his forehead; the major damage seemed to be located over the cheek and temple area. The flesh was thick and folded upon itself; completely obliterating his defined and sculpted cheekbone – which, she assumed, would have been as flawless and perfect as his other one.

His brilliant, azure eyes remained untouched, but he kept them downcast as she continued her perusal of his features; her silence was almost more than he could tolerate.

The scars were not a pretty sight, that much had already been made quite clear to him…but when one stood back and saw the whole man; the man that was burdened with the task of carrying those scars through life - the rest of him was the picture of perfection…it was quite easy to see a man of deep sorrow but great potential.

He felt the need to break the silence, hoping to take her mind off the sight in front of her; however, before Erik could form his thoughts, she spoke.

"How did this happen?"

He lifted his eyes, hoping beyond all hope that there was no pity in hers; he could not stand for people to think of him in that way; and it would be less tolerable coming from her.

His soulful, dark eyes searched her features for mockery and guile, but there was none; there was no pity, just a curious concern that he found strangely disconcerting and frighteningly appealing.

"I only know what I was told by my mother and what was beaten into me by my father...and that was a very long time ago...I have never told another living soul."

She understood, but hoped he would someday feel comfortable enough around her to entrust her with it.

"Is it painful?"

He did not know why she appeared to care; he supposed it was just human nature to ask.

"No, not physically, unless the mask chafes my skin; which has happened in the past…" he rubbed the sensitive skin; unmindful of his actions, "…I do not wear it as often as I used to."

Her anger flared, and she suddenly despised the world of which she was a part. Erik was a victim of its cruelty and barbarism – just as she was a victim of the chains that cultures and customs demand.

When she spoke, her words came out with a bitter undertone that sounded much like an accusation to Erik, and she did not mean for it to sound like that.

"Do you hide behind the mask because of fear, or shame?"

Her soft words stung, and he had no idea why. How dare she question his motives…she had no idea what he had been through in his life that led to this moment – this decision.

"Why...would it make a difference in how you look at me?"

She noted the sudden harshness in his tone and the fire that had leapt into his eyes. He sat morbidly still in the chair, barely blinking or breathing; his normally full, kissable lips had narrowed to half their size as he pressed them together tightly, avoiding a comment.

He was more alive with tension and passion when he was angry, than when he was trying to hide his gregarious nature. He possessed a natural intelligence that could not be hidden; not from her or the rest of the world.

"Do not be so defensive all the time; I was not meaning to insult you. We are to be married and I think that I am entitled…"

She did not get to finish her sentence, before Erik interrupted.

"What do you want out of his marriage, Lavanya?"

By this time, he had pulled himself violently out of his chair and was meticulously wearing a hole in the carpet with his pacing.

"I ask because I cannot fathom a woman of your considerable intelligence and independence wanting to be married in the first place, and especially not to some social introvert and monstrous outcast such as myself."

Lavanya stood up and watched him pace for a few more moments before chuckling aloud.

"I am not going to talk to you when you are acting like this. When you accept the fact that I am unaffected by the scars you have shown me; and that I am not scared of you – at all, and I am willing to discuss our marriage and all that goes with it like two grown adults - then I will sit down beside you, and we will talk about our future together."

Had she just laughed at him? Erik was certain that she had. He watched her exit the room, swaying her hips as though born to do so. She was soft and feminine with curves that flirted with him from beneath her Indian attire – attire that was not acceptable in the posh, French society – but attire that Erik found immensely appealing.

What an enticing and infuriating woman she was. She played with his senses and riled his masculine nerves; making him wonder if she realized he was eager to bed her; but his sense of honor, self-doubt and hatred, and the promise he made to protect her, kept him from acting on it.

He would not hurt her, in any way; even if it met enduring the humiliation of never knowing the love of a woman.

The movements of her body and the way she held herself had Erik's senses frazzled. He had to ask her, and soon, just what kind of dancing she did; but a very, stubborn part of him already knew…and his blood was racing.

Before she disappeared through the door, she turned back to Erik with a sheepish grin on her face.

"I have a few terms of my own…terms upon which I must insist."

He inclined his head, curious about her challenging words. Her bright eyes shone with the light of stubborn determination.

"By all means, enlighten me."

His voice dripped with mocking sarcasm and Lavanya smiled wickedly at him.

"No, I will not divulge my demands until after we are wed."

She slowly turned, flipped her long, luxurious hair over her shoulder, and left him standing there – wondering when and how he had lost control of the situation.

TBC


	24. Chapter 24 The Dark Cloud of the Past

This is a rather dark chapter - no Erik...sorry; but there is humor in the beginning.

This chapter is a little shorter than most of the previous ones, forgive me.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 24

Richard and Gilles were running over themselves trying to get the necessary props needed for the newest Lacroix production. They were anxious and excited, and neither emotion was eliciting the proper behavior for the moment.

"He has been here just over two weeks and we already have twice as much publicity than we had in an entire two years while he was gone. It seems the city has opened their arms to him."

Gilles agreed, but could not concentrate entirely on what Richard was saying, as he had somehow wound his feet up in a long piece of cloth. He frantically pulled at it, but it only seemed to get worse with each tug.

"Oh do sit down, Andre, or you will fall and break something important…." A grin spread across Firmin's aging, but still quite youthful, face. "…and you could hurt _yourself_, as well."

The smaller man mockingly snickered, but found a nearby chair and sat down, hoping somehow to disentangle himself from the horrid piece of cloth. He finally resorted to removing his shoes and found, much to his dismay, that this did not quite do what he had hoped it would do.

Richard rolled his eyes and strolled over to his friend. He shoved the man back into the chair and proceeded slowly to remove the silky culprit.

It was all he could do not to laugh; Gilles was the best friend he had ever had, but the man was virtually useless in all areas – except numbers; he was one of the most brilliant mathematical minds Richard had ever known – possibly matched only by the Phantom – or Erik, as he preferred to be called these days.

"Thank you, my friend; I feared that silky snake was going to be the end of me."

Richard stood straight, with his arms crossed, and a most disgusted look on his face.

"Andre, you are – without a doubt – one of the most accident prone people I have ever known…" he made a clicking sound with his tongue that he knew Gilles found very annoying, "…do you suppose you can find your way back to the office and come up with a figure to give Erik concerning the new costumes?"

In return for his snide teasing, Richard received a cold, blank stare. However, just as quickly as his face had gone blank, Andre lifted his head and his face wrinkled up in a questioning frown.

"Who do you suppose will be our new diva…the Vicomtess is no longer available, and we really have no other to cast."

"I would not know, my friend; that is Erik's line of expertise. He has full control over casting issues."

"Rumor has it that his ward, Tarrah, is quite the little diva. She was the main star in London and they sold more tickets in one season than the Populaire has in the last four seasons."

Richard had heard this, but was not sure how the former Mademoiselle Daae would react to having her coveted position usurped by her former teacher's current star student _and_ ward.

"She really is quite lovely, and the way she talks is very endearing."

Richard took the glove that was hanging in his pocket and swatted Gilles in the arm. His frown was dark and full of warning.

"She is far too young for you, Gilles – and she is Erik's daughter, or she is like a daughter to him – be careful about the ground upon which you tread."

Gilles pursed his lips and regarded Richard with a baleful look.

"I know that, Richard, I am not a fool. I was simply commenting on the attributes that the young lady possesses – attributes that would be to her advantage as the diva."

"Fine." Richard spat.

"Fine." Gilles spat back.

♦♥♠♣

Christine had only wanted to say good-bye to her dressing room and all the memories it held. There were moments of fear and fancy; tears and laughter; songs and silence – moments that would forever be a part of her.

The picture of her father was the last thing she packed up and his soulful eyes stared back at her from the antique frame.

"Oh papa…I have the two men I love the most in my life, but I need your help."

She dropped her eyes and closed them, allowing the tears to sting the back of her eyes. In the past four years, Christine had talked to her father more and more. The years before, her Angel had filled the void her father had left; giving her the peace and warmth with his voice and music that Gustav had given her with his presence.

Erik's abrupt exit from her life had left her more devastated than she would have ever believed. He had been her father, her teacher, and her best friend for nine years – and suddenly he was no longer there.

She had never told him any of this – which made her hurt even more. He had believed the worst of her; thinking she could not bear the sight of his deformed features; when in truth, after the initial shock was gone – it had not mattered.

In the days following her first trip to the Phantom's lair, Raoul had begun his courting and they had quickly fallen in love. How she had longed to share that feeling with her angel father; and she longed even more for him to be happy for her.

Christine thought back on the second trip she had made to his lair, at her request; hoping to gain his approval about Raoul. However, Erik had declared his intent to court her himself; even showing her a mannequin resembling her with a beautiful wedding gown he had designed.

_And what did you do, Christine, you ran…that is what you did. You ran like a scared child back to the chaotic world above ground and did not talk to him for weeks. _

Her own voice chastised her…making her tears flow even more in the silence of the room.

_You left him there to make up his own theory about why you left – why you denied giving him even one reason for turning him down. _

When next she saw him, he was dressed like Red Death and he carried himself with an elegant fury she had never seen in him; he was magnificent – he was scorned – he was dead inside.

Everything that happened after that night had been a countdown to disaster. The graveyard had been the final threshold for Raoul and he had almost plunged a sword through Erik's heart – and Erik had not moved to stop him.

_I stopped him…I had to…I could not bear the thought of a world without my Angel…what a dreadful place it would be. _

She packed up the final items and went to go get Raoul. He would carry the items out and her life in the opera house would exist no more.

She gently placed her hand over her womb and smiled. She would have to remember to ask Erik if he would be willing to teach her children as he had taught her…there was nothing she wanted more, except for him to find love and happiness.

♥♣♦♠

The meticulous calculating had paid off and the final, and most important, victim dangled by the throat in front of Pieter; suspended by the large, strong hand of a one-man brute force.

"Where did you find such a magnificent monster?"

The admiration in Pieter's voice was close to hero worship, but he reserved that honor for only one man…and he was closer to a reunion with him with every passing moment.

"It is of no concern of yours where I find my minions…just trust that he will do my bidding without question."

Pieter did not really care where such a beast was found, nor did he appreciate being talked to like a child – not even by a nobleman.

However, he could play the docile boy…if is helped him achieve his goal. Pieter stood behind the man he only knew as Yves and caressed the man with his voice.

"What do we do with him?"

Yves smiled malevolently and turned to the younger man.

"First, he watches..." he crooned, "...then he participates, and then…." Yves turned to the terrified, suspended man with the most sickening, sweet smile, "…he dies."

Pieter practically swooned from the anticipation. He had not "participated" with anyone in a very long time; the last few weeks had been a glorious dose of foreplay with Yves…a man that exuded almost as much sensual power and beauty as Erik…but not near the absolute genius.

While they "played" with the captive, four other men and two women with slashed throats died in various places in the hospital…Pieter had made sure the plan was executed during the mid-morning hours, between 2 am and 4 am, when the guards were down to three, the nurses were down to two, and doctors were down to two.

Of course, the other patients were unaware of the painful and humiliating treatment their doctor was undergoing – his screams echoed emptily off the walls of Pieter's room. After his initiation into the world of the forbidden, the doctor was dressed in Pieter's clothes and Pieter's armband was placed on him as the final deception. Just before Pieter slit his throat, the doctor pleaded for his life.

"Please, I have a family…a wife and children."

Pieter cared not, and the knife sliced evenly and quickly, severing the main artery, he would be dead in moments.

"Believe me, my good man, after what we did to you; they will not want you back."

The fire that followed burned everyone within the building; patients, doctors, nurses…of course, no one knew that that the guards, nurses and doctors had all been dead before the fire…and the patients were burned alive.

The missing doctor…a Doctor Talbot, was considered the only suspect in the fire, but he seemed to have disappeared without leaving a trail.

Pieter and Yves reclined at Yves' country estate, planning their next move. They had become more than lovers, they were friends, comrades, partners in crime.

"I want that opera house destroyed…Garnier will suffer most when it is nothing but rubble on the ground."

Pieter laughed at the bitter hatred he heard in Yves' voice.

"Why do you despise him so much?"

"Because he dared to defy me…years ago."

The malevolent tone in the nobleman's words reeked of an old, festering hatred that should have been forgotten long ago.

"Defied you?"

Yves smirked, looking like pure evil – dark and ravenous.

"The one you seek…think about _him_ and you will have your answer."

Pieter narrowed his eyes at the tall, regal figure of the man who stood magnificently before him. His blood surged lustfully in a way that only one other had ever managed…and he relished it with great reverence.

"Erik…what has he to do with any of this?" Pieter suspiciously inquired, "I do not want him hurt…" and then he smiled evilly, "…unless I am the one doing the hurting."

Yves matched the evil in Pieter's smile, and advanced on the younger man.

"I will tell you…my love…be patient."

What followed was nothing but heat and fire, spurred on by greed and lust. Pieter relished the way his body came alive from the touch of this man…he could only imagine what wonderful bliss awaited him when Erik was the one doing the touching; what ecstasy to tame his wild spirit and harness his genius…yes, that would be heaven on earth.

TBC

_These two give me the creeps...but I must write them as I see them...sorry if I am making your stomachs nauseated; that is really the reaction I am going for. Jackie  
_


	25. Chapter 25 Love or Something Like It

To clarify...I am not trying to indicate that all homosexual men are demented and evil - just Pieter and Yves. I ask forgiveness if I implied that in my last chapter.

Now, moving on.

I have added some new pictures in my profile...some Indian styles that you can imagine for Erik and Lavanya's wedding attire. Enjoy.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 25

_Several days later _

A she-devil - that is what she was. Erik was convinced that Lavanya had been sent to earth for the sole purpose of driving him to an early grave.

He watched her from beneath his long, sable lashes and through guarded, austere eyes; he noticed her easy manner toward Tarrah, and even toward Annette and Christine.

It was a nightmare – of monstrous proportions. The three women who knew him better than anyone in the world, were talking to the one woman who would soon hold power over him; the thought made him shudder.

For one moment in time – however brief it would turn out to be – he would be one-half of a sacred constitution – a marriage. She would carry his name and have his protection – both through the bond of matrimony; something Erik took very seriously.

His name had been bestowed on him by the only woman to love him unconditionally….his mother; that is, until Tarrah came along. He had once entertained the idea of marriage to Christine; but that, thankfully, was not to be.

His protection had never been granted before – no one had ever wanted it; and now, it was demanded of him. His honorable nature – something most would doubt even existed – would not allow him to back down from his promise to Sharad. He would do what was asked of him.

He watched her glide across the floor, walking like an angel beside Annette and Tarrah – and Christine was walking behind them. They were planning the wedding, he knew this, but as carefree and pleasant as she was around _them_; she was just the opposite around him.

Tarrah caught him out of the corner of her eye, heading for the door. He was dressed for riding in his tall, leather riding boots, black riding pants and jacket, and a white, French ruffle shirt.

"Erik…where are you going?"

His head shot up as he heard his name and his frown disappeared – if only for a moment.

"I am taking D'Ombre out; he has not been ridden for a few days."

He disappeared through the large, maple door, leaving them to wonder why he was in such a sour mood.

"I suppose it is a good thing that he did not see this morning's paper…that sour mood would be quite bitter if he had."

Tarrah scanned the pages of the paper for the article to which Annette referred.

**The Phantom Takes a Bride **

_Who said that love at first sight does not exist? I beg to differ with anyone who says such things. Our beloved Erik Lacroix, better known as the former Phantom of the Opera, is to wed. _

_Yes ladies, he has been spoken for. _

_There is very little known about the lady, accept that she is ravishing, exotic, and as independent as they come – a perfect match to his rakish good looks and strong, stubborn nature. _

_The couple will wed in a quiet ceremony in an undisclosed place, preventing any further speculation on the part of this reporter. I am sure they will be seen about _ _Paris__, although Monsieur Lacroix has skillfully avoided the public eye since he arrived three weeks ago. _

_I hope that this new woman will coax him out of the prison of his manor and into the public, where we all know he should be. _

_Congratulations to the happy couple! _

_Stefan Cassius _

Lavanya reread the article, a tiny bit miffed about the leakage of the news, but pleased to have all of Paris in an uproar over their upcoming nuptials.

"Do you really think he will be upset?"

Tarrah rolled her eyes and scoffed jestingly, "Oh ye', he will be quite displeased. He is a veery private person an' no' keen on the idea of havin' people in 'is business; the fact that someone let the news out will make 'im veery annoyed."

Lavanya was quiet for a moment and had to speak her thoughts.

"Is he ashamed of me?"

They quickly quelled that notion, and Annette spoke in her most matronly voice.

"Not at all, Lavanya, it is quite the opposite, I assure you. He is ashamed of himself." Lavanya frowned upon hearing that and Annette smiled reluctantly, "You have certainly figured out by now how he feels about himself…he does not want your life to be difficult because of being associated with him…" Annette shook her head in calm disgust at that notion, "…in fact, he says that same thing about all of us."

Lavanya frowned at such nonsense. The way Erik treated himself was far worse than anything she had ever witnessed before; and she supposed she had not made it any better by being so unsure about the future.

"We have bickered many times over the past few days. He is quite strong willed and incredibly intelligent..."

The beautiful Indian woman bowed her head demurely and spoke very softly.

"He has not attempted to spark any sort of romance between us and is quite aloof – even when we are alone together."

Christine quietly cleared her throat and smiled solemnly. She came forward and stood directly in front of Lavanya.

"If I know anything about my Angel…" she saw their brows lift at her use of that name, "…I mean Erik…" she corrected, "…it is that he will not think about courting you in any way. He believes I rejected him because I found him less than worthy of my affections and, no doubt, feels that every woman will feel the same."

A flare of fury lit Tarrah's blue eyes and she stiffened her back in a defiant stance. She had always wondered what had transpired between Erik, Raoul, and Christine in the bowels of the opera house four years ago.

"Is that not how you felt?"

There was an inkling of bitterness in Tarrah's tone, but she was willing to hear what Christine had to say. Lavanya seemed perturbed also, anxious to hear the truth.

Christine shook her head emphatically, walked over to a chair, and sat down. Her back was beginning to ache and her ankles were swelling – and Raoul refused to let her out of the house very much – insisting that it just was not proper for a pregnant woman to be seen; she was thankful he had allowed her to come to this little get together.

Lavanya rushed to her and pulled another chair over for her to put her feet up.

"Are you in need of food or drink?"

Christine caught Lavanya's hand and squeezed it affectionately.

"No, thank you…I just need to rest." She caught Tarrah's eyes and smiled, then did the same to Lavanya, "My feelings for Erik have never been romantic – at least not wholly – I will admit that he is seductive and enchantingly handsome, but by the time he started to pursue me, my heart belonged to Raoul."

Tarrah raised her chin and allowed a little bit of the animosity she felt toward the diva regress.

"I never meant to hurt him or indicate to him that he was unworthy in any way, because – truth be told – I was the one who felt unworthy." Christine breathed deeply to calm her nerves, the baby was kicking unmercifully against the inner wall of her womb and she that strange sensation occupied her thoughts. "I felt unworthy of his attention, his talents, his devotion – everything."

She looked back at Lavanya with pleading eyes, "These are things I have wanted to tell him for weeks and have not had the opportunity – he is avoiding me as though I have the plague."

Lavanya felt no jealousy toward the young woman nor did she feel threatened. It was clear to her that Erik had no more hidden desire for her and she had never had designs on him.

"I want to know why he thinks this way about himself." Lavanya walked gracefully toward the large table where they were making her wedding plans, "I have encountered numerous people whose deformities and scars were far worse than what his are, and they all live perfectly normal lives with as much love and passion as anyone else."

Tarrah and Annette both started to answer, but Tarrah bowed to the older woman.

"You will have to ask Erik about his past – he is not very forthcoming with the details that would explain his self-defamation – but I think he will open up if we simply ask."

Meg had been mostly listening, but one thought really baffled her. She did not know Erik that well, but she found him to be an interesting and attractive man; however, she was not sure she could do what Lavanya was doing.

"You seem rather happy to be marrying Erik, although you continuously argue with him and do not know him that well."

Lavanya smiled, realizing that her behavior did appear quite odd.

"In India, I was going to be forced to marry a weasel of a man – a titled pig that was going to use me as a bargaining chip. He preferred little boys to women…" every woman gasped at the forbidden subject, but Lavanya went on as though unaware of their shock, "…my life would have been forfeit if that had come to be."

"What happened?" Meg asked, completely engrossed.

"My brother got me out by sending me to Erik…a man he had known several years ago, but who had made quite an impression on him…" Lavanya paused, passing her eyes over every face that stared back at her, "…I have seen the honor and integrity that Erik possesses – and I have seen his darkness – the temper, the self-hatred, his tendency to push people away. There is a man worth saving hidden underneath the layers of abuse and neglect…I will find that man, little by little, if need be."

Annette grasped her hands together and carried them to her face, leaning against them and smiling brightly.

"I have prayed for a woman to come along with the strength, determination, and desire to fight Erik's demons with him – even for him….I believe that you are that woman."

Lavanya looked around suspiciously, making sure there were no men present before she continued.

"I am going to demand that we not consummate the marriage immediately…I want him to feel comfortable around me and be able to be himself before we go that far."

They said nothing, so Lavanya continued, "I want him to take me out with him, be seen with me and feel proud to be who he is. He is such a brilliant man; I have seen his paintings and sculptures and I have heard that he is an astounding musician and composer."

"He is all of those things, and more." Annette countered, "He is also an accomplished architect and designer." She looked at Lavanya and arched a brow, "I doubt he expects any intimacy from you at all…he has indicated as much in our conversations…" Annette seemed unable to stop herself from revealing more, "…he had wanted a child so badly, but he took one look at you and knew it could never be."

Lavanya frowned deeply and felt a stab of pain through her heart.

"Why would he think that?"

Annette realized that she had said too much and Erik would be most displeased with her if he found out.

"I have to know Madam Giry…" Lavanya insisted, a look of desperation in her eyes, "…I must."

She took the younger woman's hands and they both sat down, sinking gracefully into the padded chairs.

"Child….it is so obvious to those of us who have known him for any length of time…" Annette looked away, knowing that she was probably going to regret saying anything, "…he swore to himself that he would never love again…that his heart would remain intact." her eyes locked with Lavanya's and the younger woman knew what she was going to say. "He had convinced himself that there would be no way for you to penetrate his defenses…he was immune."

Lavanya felt rare tears filling her eyes; she was not a woman that gave into the need to cry on a regular basis…she was strong and had always prided herself on being such.

"He cannot keep his eyes off you and his heart is already in it…you are the most beautiful woman he has even seen and it was love for him – from the very beginning"

Lavanya swept the unwanted moisture from her cheek and shook her head, not fully understanding.

"Why would this prevent us from having a baby – I would think that love is something he would want?"

Annette chuckled nervously and continued to look into the eyes of the younger woman.

"He has no problem loving…but he does not expect love in return." She explained. "He will not touch you because he feels unworthy of doing so and because he knows you do not feel the same about him." Annette noticed a slight change in Lavanya's brow and started to speak again, but Christine asked for her.

"Do you, Lavanya….do you love Erik?"

Lavanya looked at each woman who regarded her with curious anxiety. They had all become her friends in the week since she had arrived.

"I do not know what love is…I have never known it…" She explained, "…I _do_ know that I am very attracted to him and that when I see him my stomach does this strange fluttering and I get strong, heated yearnings in odd places."

Lavanya suddenly stood and began pacing the floor with slow, deliberate steps.

"I know that I cannot wait to taste his lips and feel his hair between my fingers…" she stopped for a moment and looked straight at Christine, "…is that love?"

Christine smiled and nodded her head, "It sounds like it to me…does he invade your dreams and do you hear his voice even when he is not around?"

Lavanya smiled and nodded.

"Do you catch a wisp of his cologne in the air and close your eyes at the wonderful sensation it gives you?" Annette asked - her eyes locked in another time.

Lavanya shook her head deeply and her eyes grew large with emphasis.

"I believe you do love him, Lavanya."

"Well, I am glad we have established that, but I do not feel that he will believe my words…I must show him what love is – day by day – and allow him to discover it for himself." Her eyes twinkled and she winked at all of them, "…and when _it _happens, _it_ happens."

They all agreed to help her in whatever way they could and they agreed that it would not be an easy road…but one of great discovery.

Annette threw her arms up in mock annoyance, "Now, back to the business at hand, do you want a traditional French gown or an Indian gown?"

Lavanya smiled and took a moment to run upstairs to her room. She quickly came back holding the most beautifully designed outfits.

"This is my wedding attire…a Salwar Kameez…the traditional dress of my country."

The design was exquisite. Annette recognized the material she had purchased in Marseilles before they had caught the train back to Paris.

"It is lovely, Lavanya – is this what you have been working on?"

"Yes…I wanted to make our wedding attire…I also made Erik's."

She held up the most beautiful outfit any of them had seen. The softest, black material created a long shirt that would hang to his knees. The material was intricately interwoven with shimmering gold threads and the effect was elegant and masculine. There was also a pair of pants made from the same material.

"He will look stunning…no doubt…how did you get his measurements?" Tarrah breathed.

"Mr. Tibbs has been a great help…he gave me the measurements from Erik's black formal wear; that was all I needed."

Lavanya was pleased that they all seemed to like her clothing.

"Now, I will need help to prepare myself for the wedding…there are a great many details that must be taken care of, and I cannot do them on my own."

Meg and Tarrah were eager to volunteer. They were just waiting to see what she needed them to do.

The afternoon passed with more talk about Erik's past and the wonderful attributes he possessed.

Tarrah leaned over and whispered in Lavanya's ear, just before the evening came to a close.

"Just wait until ye see 'im withou' a shirt – nice…veery nice!"

♦♣♥♠

Nothing made Erik feel more alive than to ride atop his faithful steed and pound the countryside with the sound of thundering hooves. Erik loved the freedom that he felt with D'Ombre beneath him, moving through the cool air with gentle ease.

He had removed his mask before leaving and the feel of the morning mist felt therapeutic against his skin. The wind whipped through his hair, undoubtedly working it into tiny knots that would be murder to remove later…but Erik did not care.

He reached the farthest most corner of his property and dismounted. He wandered over to the small brook that babbled playfully, crouching down to watch the water dance over the rugged rocks, slowly wearing them down to smooth, soft pebbles.

D'Ombre nudged him on the shoulder, wanting attention – even though he was not quite over Erik leaving him to venture to France in the first place.

"What do you want?" Erik fussed. "You do not know anything more about women than I do, so do not poke your big nose into my business."

The stallion neighed in response to Erik's chastising; nibbling gently on the fabric of his shirt.

"Stop it, you cretin…you will make a hole in this shirt and I shall have to turn you into glue."

Erik smirked as the horse moved away slightly, bending his head to partake of the lush, green sprigs of grass bolting through the cool, moist ground.

"I cannot do it, D'Ombre…I cannot ask her to bear my child. I thought I could somehow rustle up the courage…but I do not seem to have it in me."

Erik was certain he would lose his nerve when the chance actually presented itself. He was a complete novice in the ways of love – for a man of considerable intelligence and common sense, he knew nothing about romancing and seducing a woman – he did not even think he could accomplish such a thing.

"I am certain she would have to be attracted to me for such a thing to happen…" he answered his own thoughts aloud, "…I am equally certain that will never happen."

He spoke to the horse, he spoke to the wind, he spoke to the babbling brook – he did not care that none of them understood him; it just helped to release his thoughts and doubts on unbiased, non-judgmental ears.

He suddenly missed his mother, very much. She had been a source of comfort and peace when he was small; holding him close to her bosom and crooning in his ear. She had had the most beautiful voice; a voice she had used to lull him to sleep at night – above the chatter and muffled sounds of sex coming from the bordello beneath them.

Loneliness had always been a part of him; ever since he had been ripped from his mother's dead arms at the ripe age of five…would he ever be rid of it?

There were brief moments when he was next to Lavanya that he felt something akin to comfort and peace – although, he did not understand why. It seemed they were always bickering about something. The conversation would start out friendly enough, but he would unknowingly say something that offended her, or sparked her anger in some way.

"She is certainly a breath of fresh air…a woman who speaks her mind and does not cower from me like a scared lamb."

He smiled to himself, surprised at how much he enjoyed her genuineness. D'Ombre chose that moment to nudge him again, alerting Erik to the impending rain that would begin falling at any moment.

"Alright, old boy, I know how much you hate the rain…." He rubbed the strong, smooth neck and rested his head against the horse's warmth. "…tomorrow I wed a woman who is more of mystery to me than any other…" he looked into the warm black eyes of his friend, "…and it terrifies me."

TBC


	26. Chapter 26 To Have and To Hold

This will be a most unusual wedding compared to the ones that I have written before. I am trying to keep with the characters.

I have made a few changes in the content, thanks to the advice and suggestions of iluvmyphantom - she is a bit of an expert on Indian culture and has been giving me some pointers. Thank you, my friend.

Enjoy.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 26

Christine and Raoul arrived early the next day, ready to be a part of the wedding ceremony. It was not a big ceremony, as most Indian weddings would be, but Lavanya did not feel too concerned about that minor flaw; she had foregone most of the traditions of her country – fearing never to return.

She had agreed to let Christine, Meg, and Tarrah help her prepare for the ceremony; she took a long, luxurious bath in perfumed water – oiled and moisturized her skin and paid a great deal of attention to her hair.

Afterwards, they wrapped her in the Sari and jewels adorned her face, ears, hair, and hands. She had managed to find some amazing jewelry in Paris yesterday – a wonderful shopping experience with Tarrah and Meg. Tarrah had been the one to ask Erik for the funding, and he had provided nicely, not even questioning why she needed it.

They did not have the henna for the body painting, so they made due with various berry juices and natural colorants. When done, Lavanya looked like an exotic princess from a far-away land, ready to meet her prince charming.

"You look stunning, Lavanya, I have never seen a more beautiful bride."

Lavanya smiled at the soft words that Christine spoke. She had finally realized that the young woman saw Erik more as a best friend/father figure than a love interest. The discussions they had shared and all of the things she had said just proved that more and more - but she loved him very much.

"Thank you…" she looked at every woman in the room, "…I could not have done this without you. I would normally have my mother and sisters around to help, but my mother died when I was eight and I have no sisters…" her voice trailed off in thought and a sad light invaded her eyes, "…I just wish Sharad were here."

"Who is Sharad?" Meg asked, curious about this man she spoke of with such fondness.

"My brother, Meg…" Lavanya smiled, "…he is quite handsome and he and Erik are the same age."

Meg nodded in response, understanding how much she would want her family around her when she finally caught the eye of a man worthy of her mother's scrutinizing eye.

Lavanya was thankful that Sharad had found love and was planning on settling down; he had always avoided getting too involved with anyone – he just loved women too much

Christine's voice drew her from her thoughts.

"Raoul would have a conniption if I wore such an outfit; but I cannot believe how comfortable it looks."

Lavanya frowned at the younger woman; not understanding any man objecting to the beautiful and sensual clothing of her native land.

"Why would he object?"

"It just is not proper in our society to wear such revealing clothing."

Lavanya glanced down at her form and chuckled.

"I have thought the same about some of the low-cut dresses I have seen the French ladies wearing." They all agreed with that. "If you think this is revealing, you should see my kathak outfit."

Every woman's mouth was agape.

"Kathak?"

Lavanya nodded.

"It sounds intriguing."

Lavanya smiled, and chuckled at their enthusiastic eyes and voices.

"It is - and quite beautiful. It is a dance that many women in my country have perfected; it is artistic, elegant, and sensual."

Tarrah thought is sounded fascinating, "Erik will be enthralled…you must show him."

"I intend to…there is a great deal about me that he does not know, and I know even less about him." Lavanya stated with a twinkle in her eye. "However, in my country, this is not unusual. Marriage is journey of discovery…there are no long courtships in my country – no engagement rings…none of these things are significant in my culture."

"That sounds atrocious!" Christine stated vehemently.

Lavanya smiled and continued.

"It is not; the families usually benefit from the match and the bride and groom seldom know each other beyond brief contact."

"So, the fact that you and Erik scarcely know each other does not bother you?"

Lavanya smiled and shook her head, "No, it does not…I only hope he finds happiness with me. I promised my brother I would do right by Erik, and I will…not because I promised Sharad, but because Erik seems worthy of my best…." She smiled sheepishly, "…even if he can be a bit of a grump."

♠♣♦♥

They had agreed upon their attire being traditional Indian – as well as her ritualistic preparation, but they had also agreed upon a ring ceremony – Erik had wanted to put a ring on her finger; little did he know that Lavanya was eager to wear it.

The service would be Christian, as Lavanya had converted years ago – more to upset her father than anything – but she found that the God of Christianity touched her like no other. Despite her Christian conversion, she had kept much of her Indian culture.

Erik had stopped himself from walking out on the ceremony many times; knowing that Lavanya had surely come to her senses and fled. However, each time, he stopped; hating the weakness that made him want what she had to offer.

The outfit that Lavanya had made for him looked wonderful on him, but Erik did not even notice. He dressed, much as he had every other morning, decided to let the defiant, soft curls of his soot-colored hair hang loose around his face, and donned his white half-mask.

The only people present were Annette, Richard, Gilles, Tarrah, Christine, Raoul, and Meg. He only wished he could have given her the tradition Indian wedding she deserved. As it was, they had improvised and the vicar had graciously agreed to be flexible.

There would be no exchanging of vows, just a public acceptance of one another and a brief moment of placing a ring on her finger. They were being married in a small, but elegantly decorated stateroom of a local hotel – where no reporters or meddlesome gossips could find them.

He was not allowed to see her until she stood before him, a western tradition she insisted upon; so he faced the priest as she was brought to him. He would be free to speak, if he so chose, but it was not required.

However, what was to happen next made his knees shake.

To accept her as his bride, he was to place his ring on her finger, lift her veil, and kiss her - not a chaste kiss, but the kiss of a husband. In return, she would accept him – or run, as Erik thought was the more appropriate description.

Forget the knees, everything on him was shaking.

♣♠♦♥

Erik had always held the opinion that the women of India were some of the most beautiful in the world. He had been a silent but avid watcher of them in the years that he had spent there.

As the exquisitely clad figure of his bride appeared before him – adorned in pure white with shimmering threads draping her body like the touch of a lover, he could not remember how to breathe. He only prayed he did not look like a halfwit standing before her with his mouth agape.

A veil covered her features; giving her an air of mystery that succeeded in igniting his blood. Erik was busy admiring the soft, feminine movements of her body under the wedding attire and did not realize that a stunning smile spread over his face; and his bride admired it from beneath the veil.

She curtsied in submission and waited for his hand upon her shoulder. He gave it, feeling the softness of her clothing and heat of her body.

She arose and stood before him awaiting his approval. His trembling hands held her veil firmly and he slowly began lifting it. He could not understand why she had gone to so much trouble just to marry _him_. She had undergone the entire wedding preparation ritual; it was evident by her incredible appearance.

Of course, nothing escaped Lavanya's eager eyes. He looked beyond magnificent in the clothes she had made for him. His tall, lean, muscular body did them justice and she longed to see him move in them. He lit a fire within her at that moment…one that would never out.

The veil finally revealed her to him and his heart swelled with a warm light that was unfamiliar to him. She had bejeweled herself for him – her hair, her ears, her neck, her face – she was a paragon of feminine beauty.

She stared up at him with a softness in her eyes that Erik found disconcerting, but also unbelievably desirable. He knew it could not be for him, but he was enjoying the moment, completely engulfed in their blue/green depths.

He took the ring from his smallest digit, where he had placed it for safekeeping, and placed it upon her finger. He had found the ring a couple of days ago while lingering in town after a rehearsal. The jeweler had been impressed with his professional eye concerning the design and type of diamond. This was the only ring that Erik felt was worthy to be worn by Lavanya.

The 2-carat diamond was in the shape of a teardrop and was nestled between rows of smaller diamonds on both sides. It was exquisite and Lavanya stared in awe at it for a few moments before lifting her oceanic eyes.

He had not planned to say anything to her, but he found the words pouring forth from him as though they were written on his heart.

He scanned her face with his eyes, slowly taking in each delicate feature that suddenly and completely captivated him; a smile, small but beautiful played upon his full lips and he spoke to her, so softly that the others in the room had a hard time hearing him.

"This moment will be a part of me for the rest of my life – the way you look – there is no one that compares; the way you are looking at me - as though I am actually worthy of your attention…" He centered his eyes on her lips, tasting their sweetness and feeling their softness in his mind before he dared to touch them. "…you take my breath away."

He lowered his head, forgetting all the misgivings and doubts, forgetting his insecurities and self-hatred; he was going to kiss this woman – and cherish the moment for the rest of his life.

The touching of their lips was like a melding of two souls. Erik barely moved his lips over hers, but he felt the force of the contact shoot straight through him. She responded to him by moaning quietly and kissing him back; a soft opening of her lips that left his knees weak.

She initiated more contact by wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing her lips to his again, this time with a more demanding surety. Erik felt her body mold to his and his arms instinctively surrounded her waist, drawing her to him more fully.

Lavanya drank him in; his taste, his scent, his tenderness, his passion…his pain – all revealed to her through the touch of his lips to hers. There was no arrogance in his kiss, no guile – he seemed as baffled by the heated contact as she was…but she relished it like a perfect rose relishes the fresh dew at dawn's break.

For the tiniest moment, her tongue flitted across the sensual cut of his full lips – flirting with their softness; but before Erik could respond, the officiating vicar cleared his throat and they parted, both of them breathless and stunned.

Lavanya moved the tip of her tongue over her lips, still tasting him. She had been lost in the feel of his warm, soft lips against hers, having been kissed on several occasions by different suitors. She had longed for more – her body ached for more – and he was now her husband…she had the right to ask for more.

She looked at him as the priest announced their union and felt a twitter in the pit of her stomach. He seemed rather shocked at the intimate kiss they had shared – even ashamed; but Lavanya had no idea why he would feel that way.

There was a dinner being catered, compliments of Raoul and Christine. They had wanted to do something special to show how happy they were for Erik and Lavanya.

The food was marvelous and the small ensemble they had hired to play music in the background was quietly entertaining them; but Erik separated himself from the festivities and slowly moved through the large, double glass doors to stand on the patio.

He gazed into the large garden area, watching the dusky shadows begin to dominate his surroundings. The beautiful landscaping the hotel displayed, was one of the most prestige's gardens in Paris.

His thoughts wandered to the kiss they had shared…he was a logical man; they had both been wrapped up in the moment; and yet, the kiss had left a yearning within him that was quickly giving way to despair. Why had she kissed him back – and with such wild abandonment?

Erik stepped off the patio and traced the rock path through the gardens. The sun was sinking; soon to give way to the rising, pale crescent of the moon. The smell of the spring flowers tickled his senses and he relaxed from the peaceful serenity of the garden.

He was not aware of his bride's watchful eyes, following his statuesque figure as it moved gracefully through the garden. She felt the loneliness that controlled him – ate at him – and she could not help but feel the need to shelter him from whatever caged the impassioned man who had kissed her so deliciously.

He knelt down, closely examining one of the spring tulips that had closed for the evening. He removed his gloves and touched the soft surface of the petals, marveling in the simple beauty it possessed.

"There cannot be too many men who would wish to be by themselves on their wedding night."

Her voice jolted him and he stood abruptly, turning toward her arousing figure. His head lowered and he hoped she did not see the terrifying fear in his eyes.

"It is no reflection on you, Madam, I assure you…" he relaxed slightly and tried not to focus on her beauty, "…I am not one for celebrations."

Lavanya walked slowly over to a small, wooden bench and sat down. He moved to stand beside her, keeping at a safe distance.

"We are beyond formalities, my husband."

She smiled and patted the seat beside her, indicating that she wanted him to sit down.

Erik, unsure of what to do, hesitantly sat down; keeping his back straight and his hands on his knees.

She lifted her hand and examined the beautiful ring he had placed on her finger.

"This ring is the prettiest thing I have ever seen, Erik; thank you."

Erik watched her eyes react to the ring, their blue/green irises turning a deep, midnight blue with the shroud of the evening sky.

He simply nodded, not trusting himself to say anything logical or profound pertaining to the ring. Her eyes were a mystery to him, and the question was out before he thought about it.

"Forgive my forwardness, but you have the most stunning eyes I have ever seen. Most of the women from your country have brown eyes."

Lavanya felt a swell of joy within her that he had noticed her eyes; ever since her arrival, he seemed to be pushing himself further and further away from her. She had begun to think he did not like her at all…until the kiss they had just shared.

No matter how hard he tried, he could not resist the pull she had on him. Her eyes were just one part of her that he found devastatingly attractive.

He looked away from her and again stared into the darkness. He was nervous about bringing up what was to happen next. He could not imagine taking her to his bed…even now, he was sure she was trembling in fear at the thought of it.

_It is my right to do so; all I have to do is lead the way...she will follow… and I can finally know the joys and warmth of a woman's body. _

His thoughts made his body harden and his heart speed up. The thought of having a willing woman yield to him was almost too much…

_She is not willing, Erik…she had no choice in taking you as her husband. _

He hung his head and sighed quietly, causing Lavanya to ponder over what was causing such despondency in a man who had just given her the most incredible kiss she had ever experienced…it didn't matter that it was not her first; his had been the sweetest and she longed for what was yet to come.

"Come, my husband; it is getting quite chilly out here and I find myself growing weary of being around so many people….I am sure we can find something to keep ourselves busy."

Erik wasn't thinking straight, obviously; he could have sworn he had heard a sensual purr in her voice – one that sent a stroke of desire up his flesh as though she had firmly gripped his manhood in her hand.

She had gently taken his bare hand in hers, as his gloves lay forgotten on a table somewhere; and she was leading him into the large room; the contact of her flesh on his left him addled and he followed like a lamb to the slaughter.

Ravenously, he watched her swaying hips – almost feeling their softness beneath his hands and their hidden joys wrapping around his wanton flesh, coaxing him into a state of utopia.

She looked back at him as she led him to an unknown destination. Erik could not even remember what they had been discussing before she took his hand and began to lead him.

"Erik…."

Her voice penetrated his desire-clouded mind, throwing him back into reality with a force that rivaled a spring thunderstorm.

He focused his eyes on her face, seeing her beautifully adorned hair and skin, and immediately averted them – she did not need to know the lustful thoughts that had been going through his mind – he was here to protect her – all else was unimportant.

"Erik, do you have a preference?"

He frowned and lifted his eyes, barely holding her gaze.

"A preference?" He repeated.

She smiled, leaving him breathless and even more confused.

"Yes, a preference…on the room?"

Confusion still shrouded his features and he remained motionless, standing in the middle of the long, wide hallway with his wife's petite hand still holding his.

"Would you rather stay here – in the room that Raoul and Christine have graciously given us for the night – or would you rather go back to _our_ home?"

She sincerely thought he met to bed her this night – to treat her as some trophy wife he had obtained through bargaining or bartering. She seemed almost willing to allow his monstrous, murdering hands to touch her.

Shame, like nothing he had ever felt before, washed over him and he quickly removed his hand from her grasp. He trembled from head to foot – fighting the self-disgust that flooded his mind and spirit.

A douse of invisible cold water must have hit him – completely cleansing him of the impure thoughts he had been harboring - and any remaining desire he may have been tempted to act upon.

"NO!" He emphasized - his voice a very loud, sharp gasp.

She pulled back from him, but her eyes never left his. She stared, disbelievingly, into his stormy green eyes, not comprehending why he was objective.

"No?" She whispered back.

Her eyes were inquisitive and Erik was certain she was confused by his reaction. He did not want to compound the situation by leaving her in the dark about his intentions. He relaxed his tense stance and tried to smile.

He would take her to the hotel room, but not for the reason she surely anticipated; they needed to talk before he lost his nerve.

"Come, we need to talk."

His voice was low and lulling – sending a warm thrill up her spine. He took her hand gently in his and they found their way to the room that Raoul and Christine had rented for the night.

Just thinking about the fact that _they_ had expected him to consummate this marriage tonight, embarrassed and shamed him – why would they think he would do such a thing.

Once inside the room, Erik turned up the lights and the soft, sensual glow of the flame illuminated the beauty that surrounded them.

The walls were a soft white with intricately carved, wooden molding around the ceiling and floorboards. The ceiling was lovely; a painted mural depicting the Garden of Eden and the intimate binding of man and woman was exquisitely displayed.

Deep burgundy, forest green, midnight blue, and velvet black accented the room and sensually cloaked it in shades of seduction.

The large, four-poster, bed against the back wall dominated the room – calling to Erik like a siren leading him to his doom. He stayed away from it – fearing its control and yearning for its promise.

"What is it you wish to talk about, husband?" Lavanya murmured from behind him. "I did not think that talking would be what you had in mind."

Erik stood up straighter at the sound of her voice and closed his eyes – willing his nerve to remain strong and unmoving. He finally turned around to find her only inches from him, staring into his face with a look that said she was clearly baffled by his behavior.

Lavanya instinctively knew he was as much a virgin as she was; more so, really – for he had no sensuality training – what he knew, he had learned by reading. He doubted his virility and attractiveness and she knew he had entered into this marriage never intending to exercise his husbandly rights.

Lavanya smirked to herself and her thoughts turned coltishly seductive.

_Whatever makes the poor man think he is in charge of such things? _

TBC


	27. Chapter 27 Rewind and Start Over

I Love you people!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 27

It had only taken a few hours in Erik's presence for Lavanya to know that he was a man with whom she could be herself – a man she could respect and honor - but around whom she could speak her mind.

He didn't coddle her or speak condescendingly toward her – he asked her opinion on matters pertaining to the wedding and what she wanted – and he even listened to her when she spoke.

She ran her eyes over his tall, stately form as he stood before her looking anything but thrilled to be alone with her; but she knew his reasons – better than he thought she did.

The idea of love terrified him – she had talked for hours with Annette, Tarrah and Christine, discussing what they knew of his past and his own demented opinion of himself. Many things had happened that made him the way he was.

Unrequited love was a belittling and humiliating thing, and he had known it – intimately. He feared loving again, only to have it thrown back at him – his heart left bleeding and his body left untouched.

She had not felt pity for him – just intense sadness that he could not realize that one experience with love did not set the course for all others. He felt himself unworthy and undeserving because of the ugliness he claimed he possessed – both physically and characteristically.

She would not have his body tonight, although she quickly discovered that she wanted to – but she would start to build on the love she knew he felt for her and the love she had for him. She did not want him thinking that the only way she could express her feelings for him or his desirability, was through the act of love making; there were other ways.

She was a virgin of body, but her knowledge of the intimate arts made her eager to taste him in every way – to know him in every way – and to love him in every way.

It was amazing how things had changed in a matter of days; she had dreaded this marriage – certain he was some demanding European who only wanted a pretty bride to boost his gigantic ego, his waning status, and to satiate his animal needs.

Erik was not any of these things; he was a complete surprise in every way.

"Do come and relax, husband, what is it that you wish to discuss?"

The way she spoke to him made him feel worthy of her in some small way. She was soft spoken and her eyes were pools of molten velvet, pulling him in with their invisible, sensual ropes

He did not move at first, he was frozen in one place as he weighed the choices he had to make. Erik finally released the pensive hold on his shoulders and walked over to her. She arose as he approached and put her back to him.

"Could you please undo the clasp on my necklace – it needs to come off so that I can get more comfortable – then, I promise we will talk."

Erik's trembling hands tenderly unclasped the fragile chain and his fingers accidentally whispered across the flesh of her back. He heard the hitch of her breath and saw her eyes drift shut at the contact – further confusing him.

He dropped his hands back down to his sides and watched her pull the necklace off. Of course, that was nothing compared to what she did next.

She unwound the material of her Sari and Erik watched in fascinated wonder as her body was slowly revealed to him. Beneath the folds of material, she wore a pair of pants that loosely outlined the shape of her legs. Her stomach and upper abdomen were bare – causing Erik immediately to avert his eyes. Over her breasts, she wore a rather tight and revealing top with short sleeves and a semi-plunging neckline.

His body had already betrayed him, and he hoped she had not noticed – but notice, she did – and she carefully hid her knowledge of his reaction to her; but she was thankful he liked what he saw.

She sauntered up to him and he backed up with each step that she took – he finally brushed the bed with the back of his knees and sat, rather unceremoniously, on the edge.

Lavanya smiled warmly, trying to relax him. She stood in front of him, just a breath away, but careful not to touch him. He was wound tightly and she feared he would bolt from the room if given an opportunity.

"Would you like a drink?" He finally asked; wondering if the breathy, low voice he heard was really his.

"No, thank you…I do not care for alcohol." She replied, never taking her eyes off him.

Erik swallowed deeply, trying to come up with some other excuse to get up and escape the velvety tentacles she seemed to have attached to him.

"Water, would you like some water or perhaps…."

"Erik…" She whispered, having sat down next to him, "…relax. What do you wish to discuss?"

His senses were overwhelmed with her. He had hoped himself immune to feminine wiles after all the pain he had experienced in the past – but he had no control over the wild, untamed beating of his heart and his body's taut reaction to her.

He dropped his eyes and turned away from her, eager to put distance between them, but not wanting to appear nervous or rude.

He closed his eyes and then smiled to himself. When he opened them again, she was still beside him, awaiting his response.

"Forgive me…." He murmured, "…it seems I can face my gypsy tormentors, brave the horrid treatment I received while in India, and face the humiliation I have encountered here in Paris at the hands of numerous people..." he still had not looked at her until now; he lifted troubled, stormy eyes, "…but I cannot face you."

He smiled again, this time running his eyes over her features with a disguised hunger she had never seen before. They wandered down to her mouth, pausing only briefly, before moving down to her exposed curves. He immediately regretted letting them drift downward and yanked them back up to look her in the eye.

"Perhaps you should change into something less….provocative…" He murmured again, his voice full of unrelenting desire, "…or put on a robe before I continue; I cannot think with you looking the way you do."

Lavanya was rather surprised at his admission, for it revealed a weakness in him that she was sure he wanted to keep hidden; but he had admitted that she held power over him.

"And how do I look, Erik?"

He studied her, not withholding any of the desire from his eyes, "Wanton."

She inched closer to him, tentatively placing her hand upon his chest. She felt him; hard, warm, and firm beneath her hand – and she marveled in how powerfully built he was.

His eyes drifted shut at the contact and Lavanya realized just how foreign the act of touching was to him.

"You really are an innocent…so unaware of your own beauty." She whispered; with those words, she watched a tremor pass through him.

His eyes lifted languidly and he stared at her in disbelief. The echo of her words haunted him for he knew them to be untrue.

"Do not mock me…there is no beauty in me."

Although spoken softly, Lavanya heard the warning in his smoky voice.

"Why do you push so hard, Erik?" She asked, in a cool, even tone.

She moved from him and disappeared behind a dressing screen. He had not spoken, so she assumed he was either contemplating his answer or seething.

"I am not sure that I understand what you mean." He finally responded, "What am I pushing?"

She emerged, clad in simple but elegant pants, a knee-length shirt, and bare feet. The exposed skin of her midriff was tantalizing, but off limits; and Erik averted his eyes as she sauntered over to him and sat down on the bed beside him.

"People, Erik…you push _people_ away."

She smelled so wonderfully sensual and wholly woman; and Erik found it difficult to stay focused. He had no experience when it came to conversing – especially with a beautiful woman. Most of his communications in the past had been by letter - or violence.

"I suppose I do…it is something that I have always done." He admitted, not looking at her. "They have not always been…" he searched for the right word, "…receiving of me."

She touched her hand over his and felt him immediately stiffen, as though she had pricked him with a needle.

"I am not one of those people, Erik…I want to get to know you."

He regarded her with the perfect curve of his dimpled cheek and his lips slanted in a mocking smile. He removed his hand from hers and stood; leaning into the dark crevice against the wall – as the dying light in the room cast sinister shadows beneath his long, dusty lashes.

"There is no need, my lady; I may be unschooled when it comes to women, but I am very much aware of the fact that a woman like you would want nothing to do with a creature like me..."

He was not finished, and he had locked his hands at the small of his back was pacing with a primal rhythm across the floor in front of the bed.

"…I even prayed that you would be unattractive in the eyes of the world so that it would be easier for you to accept me with all of my ugliness – inside and out."

He stopped pacing and lifted heavy-lidded eyes to her – eyes that held sadness and want – what she saw in them made her stomach tie in knots.

"Erik…you assume too much…." Lavanya muttered, "…please come and sit down so that we may get some things out in the open."

He scoffed and sat down beside her.

"The only thing you need to know is that I will not touch you…I make you this vow." He assured her, "You will be my wife in name only."

"Erik…."

He stood again, moving from her as though burned; he was a bundle of nervous energy, mixed with humiliation and self-anger.

"That is not what I had in mind…" Lavanya sighed, "…I am your wife, and…."

He spun toward her with rage in his eyes, "Do not presume to tell me that _you_ are _my_ wife and that it is _my_ right to take from you what I want..."

His eyes were blazing pools of liquid jade and Lavanya responded to him. He was magnificently male – bold and brawny – and she felt her heart skip a beat.

"…I am and have been many things: a murderer, a thief, an extortionist – but I will _never_ be a rapist."

He began to remove the wedding attire she had made for him…undeterred by his unwillingness to be exposed in front of her. He was certain she could not care less whether he was bare-chested, or not.

"What are you doing?" She asked with an inquiring tone.

She was trying to keep her eyes from the vast expanse of his muscular chest with its dark whorls of chest hair. He was definitely lean, but it did nothing to take away from the powerfulness of his build.

He kept the pants on and proceeded over to the long chaise lounger after grabbing a pillow from the bed.

"What does it look like I am doing?" he spat – more at the air than at her. "I am going to bed."

He stretched his long frame over the plush softness of the chair and turned his back to her.

She laughed mockingly and marched up to his reclining form.

"No you are not…not in here….not n…" She had pulled the pillow from beneath him and thrown it back on the bed.

He sprang up with such feral prowess that she almost feared he would hurt her; but his eyes held such a pained look that she knew he would never touch her…just as he promised.

She had been about to say, "not now", before he had bolted to a standing position. Instead, the words froze in her throat as she saw the searing pain in his eyes and then his defeated back as he retrieved his suit top and opened the door.

"Rest assured, my lady, I shall not bother you again."

His murmured words were barely audible, but he knew she had heard him. He gave her one last passing look and left the room.

TBC

I know, not quite the wedding night that many of you were looking for...sorry. I see this happening with Erik's stubborn insistence battling his body's call and Lavanya's headstrong independence battling her womanly desires.

Patience, my little chickadee's!!


	28. Chapter 28 I Only Have Eyes for You

Sorry, I was out of town...I would never forget about my wonderful Erik and where I have left him...and I would not forget about my wonderful readers and reviewers.

Without further delay...

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 28

Erik left the hotel quietly and made his way toward the house he was to share with Lavanya. The night was cool, but clear – and Erik had left the hotel without his cape.

_Who cares if you get sick…you deserve it._ He told himself. _You could not even hold on to her for a day, could you? _

He felt old…very old. He could smell her on him – everywhere – and his heart ached to go back to her; but she had made it clear that he was not wanted

Her heated words still banged against the walls of his head and he could not rid himself of her eyesHis scoffing laugh was bitter, and did nothing to ease the ache that bore a hole in his heart. _What made you think you were entitled to such bliss? You are a monster, and always will be._

His heart; he had guarded it so carefully for four years, and along comes the most beautiful woman he has ever seen; intelligent and articulate; a contagious smile, and he found it increasingly difficult to keep his eyes off her.

However, love…he had sworn never to love again - what a liar he was.

He pulled his watch from his pocket and checked the time. Where had the time gone? The wedding had been over at five in the afternoon – had they really lingered at the celebratory dinner for five hours?

It was one-thirty in the morning…he had been walking for a little over and hour. It was ten-o-clock when he and Lavanya had snuck away and tried to talk...but he had blown that and his temper had once again thrown the arrow that pierced his heart. Now, he feared he would never get over her; and this time, it would be the death of him.

_Face it; you will just have to make the best of this until she decides she has had enough…_ Erik stopped dead in his tracks and laughed cynically to himself, _…how am I going to tell Sharad that his sister despises the very sight of me…that she kicked me out of our wedding night hotel without so much as thought?_

The cool night air seemed to settle in his lungs and Erik felt chilled down to his bones. It was unusually damp out, making the air thick with moisture. That moisture coated his cape and left small droplets of water on his eyelashes and hair. He had left his hat somewhere, he could not remember where - nor did he care.

They would probably all be against him: Annette, Tarrah, Meg, and Christine. They seemed to have developed a quick and strong friendship with Lavanya – and that would not bode well for him.

_The first chance she gets she will probably tell them what a failure I am as a man – then my humiliation will be complete. I am so completely undesirable that I did not even sleep in the same room with her. _

He had managed to make it to the house, but dreaded going in. What was there for him in the large, beautiful home that had made promises to him of laughter and possibly of love? There would be no child – after tonight, he certainly did not have the nerve to ask her for such a sacrifice.

_What a coward I am turning out to be...I cannot even talk to her..._

Erik would not allow himself to feel the magnitude of his loss at this time. He would not stay in the house; he would sleep in the stables with D'Ombre and lick his wounds to a dull ache with a bottle of cognac; perhaps, if he were lucky, he would die of alcohol poisoning.

The bottle was easy enough to obtain; he had an extensive bar in the house as a part of high society. He was not being particularly quiet as he rummaged around for it, and the butler roused. Searching the house, he found his master mumbling incoherently to himself and cradling the bottle in the crook of his arm as though it was precious to him.

"May I be of some service, Monsieur Lacroix?"

Erik's head jerked around to the older man and he frowned.

"Not unless you can turn back time?"

He walked away, not caring to hear an answer, and headed back into the night air.

Mr. Tibbs watched him move gracefully through the dense fog that had begun descending to the ground.

He was not sure what had happened, but he was certain it was not a good sign for the bridegroom to be heading toward the stables with a bottle of cognac in his arms and a scowl on his face.

He shook his head in dismay and shut the door. What would be the outcome of all of this when the mistress of the house returned?

♠♣♦♥

The alcohol dulled the ache in his heart, but it did nothing to drown the memories in his mind or wash her smell from his senses.

D'Ombre neighed quietly at his master and even nudged him on numerous occasions; but Erik was numb to everything except the way she had looked in her wedding sari, the beautiful tilt of her azure eyes, and the seducing sway of her hips. The cognac had only heightened his awareness of her – and his desire did not wane as he had hoped.

The bottle lay empty beside him, and he was quiet cold to the touch, but Erik was not concerned; somewhere deep in the night, he drifted into a fitful sleep with D'Ombre standing guard.

It was only a few hours later that his aching, throbbing head lifted off the hay at the sound of female voices not far away.

He stood – very wearily – and headed toward them.

♣♥♠♦

Lavanya had stayed at the hotel, pushing back painful tears and trying to sleep in the large, empty bed; but all she saw when her eyes closed was the deep pain in Erik's eyes as he turned from her and walked away – just as she had hatefully told him to do.

_How could I have said what I said…and on our wedding night? They told me about his lack of experience with women and Christine even told me about what transpired between them…she left him broken hearted and feeling unworthy of love; and I treated him no better – worse actually – for I am his wife. _

"I am his wife." She said aloud, with one tear gliding down her caramel colored cheek.

She gave up trying to sleep and put on her robe. She knew there would be no one about at this time of the morning, but she needed to walk. The halls were empty and the hotel was very quiet.

She silently descended the long stairway headed for the bottom floor. She entered the lobby and was again taken aback by its beauty. The St. James Hotel was luxurious and ornate, romantic and sensual, with shades of gold and white in the lobby area that just added to the ethereal atmosphere.

Upon entering the lobby, she was shocked to see Christine pacing the floor. The younger woman was holding her extended abdomen and upon seeing Lavanya, she smiled…and then frowned.

She needed a friend right now, and Christine was the only other married woman in the group; other than Madam Giry, but Lavanya did not wish to become friends with the matronly woman.

"Lavanya, if I may be so bold as to ask, why are you down here when your gorgeous husband is in your bed?"

Before the words were even out, Lavanya put her hand to her mouth to prevent the cry that was about to come forth.

"What ever is wrong?"

Christine had come to her side as the young women sank into the overstuffed couch in the lobby.

"I hurt him…worse than anything you have ever done to him…I hurt him."

Christine frowned and sat up for moment, contemplating what she was talking about.

"All we set out to do was talk – I was going to tell him that before we could be intimate, I wanted to be courted by him and that I wanted him to be more sociable and allow people to know and accept him…I want him to be comfortable with who he is and know that he is deserving of everything I can give him and so much more."

She was rambling and she knew it, but Lavanya could not stop. If the words ceased the crying would start.

"…he said that he knew a woman like me would not be interested in a creature like him…." Lavanya frowned and a new spark of righteous indignation flew into her voice, "...creature…he calls himself worse things than anyone else does."

Christine frowned and shook her head.

"I despise it when he degrades himself like that – but I must admit, I have done little in the past to discourage it…being too wrapped up in my own problems like I was."

"I know, it makes me so angry at him…but not the kind of anger that makes me want to scream at him…" Lavanya explained, "…the kind of anger that demands he thinks better of himself."

"What happened next?"

Christine needed to know what had made this sweet natured woman so angry.

"It all went terribly wrong…he stopped talking and prepared to go to sleep on the chaise lounger that was in the room…at the foot of the bed…." Lavanya lifted her tearing eyes and tried to keep the moisture at bay. "…I told him that he was not sleeping in that room, and before I could clarify that it was just for that night and then we would share the manor, but not a bedroom…not yet…he was gone."

Christine dropped her eyes and sat up straighter.

"…I have never seen such pain in another person's eyes." She smiled sadly and crossed her arms over the ache in her chest, "…I basically told my husband that I did not want him near me."

Their eyes met and Christine saw a light in Lavanya's eyes…the same light she saw in her own eyes when she was talking about or to Raoul.

"He has a temper…a very volatile temper at times – although I have never seen him abusive…but he will cool down and the two of you will have a chance to talk again."

"But he has no experience with women and our mood swings…he has no idea that I was just feeding off his anger and that I very much want to be with him in every way…." Lavanya stated, "…but I want him to know himself and his worth first."

Christine suddenly grasped her abdomen and looked stunned for a moment; then, a huge smile covered her face.

"She moved…" Christine gasped with awe.

She reached over, picked up Lavanya's hand, and placed on her abdomen. Immediately, as though proving a point, the baby kicked, and both women giggled.

"That is so lovely!" Lavanya exclaimed.

"You will work this out…it will take diligence and determination on your part…and he needs to know at all times that you love him – unconditionally."

Lavanya smiled and averted her eyes.

"Is it that obvious...my feelings?

Christine smiled and nodded , and then felt her baby move again, and gasped elatedly, "Do you want children?"

Lavanya nodded her head emphatically.

"Oh yes…several…." She finally said with a big smile, "…but first, I must find the man who will play a vital part in giving me those children."

Christine struggled to get up, but Lavanya latched onto her forearm and proceeded to help her.

They were both out of breath when the task was accomplished, and shared a laugh and smiles. Christine gave the older woman a friendly hug and then assured her of her support.

"We shall find him together."

♣♦♥♠

"I really know very little about him."

Christine had decided to tell her side of the story while she had Lavanya's attention. Lavanya seemed level headed and was completely devoted to Erik – even if he did not realize it – not yet, anyway.

"I was seven when papa died. We had frequented the Opera Populaire and father and Madam Giry's brother, Armand, were dear friends. After Armand died, papa continued to be close friends with Madam Giry.

"Before papa died, he gave me to Madam Giry as her ward, telling me that the Angel of Music would always be watching me, and that he would become my teacher and guide – much as papa had been.

"It was not long after this that the voice came to me in the dark hours of the morning. The voice was soothing and kind; and so beautiful that words could not describe it. He made me feel protected and I was not lonely anymore."

Lavanya found the whole story quite fascinating. Christine had been a very young girl and had needed a father figure in her life…and that was where her Angel had come in.

"For the next nine years, he taught me to use my voice in ways no one had ever heard. He taught me that my voice was just an extension of my inner self – my soul. He treated me as an equal on every level – like an intelligent, enterprising young women….he never made me feel bad about myself, or my abilities."

"Madam Giry told me he was a musician and a composer…you have worked with him?" Lavanya asked.

She asked the question with an awe-filled wonder in her voice; this was something she had not known of him. She knew that he was involved deeply with the opera house, but she had not known to what level.

"Oh yes, I have! He sings like an angel, plays the piano, organ, and violin, writes and composes music scores, operas, and plays…he is a genius." Christine praised, "He is also an architect, sculpture, artist, and designer…oh…" Christine grinned and laughed playfully, "…and a magician."

Lavanya really had a great deal to learn about the man she had married.

"I never knew this, Sharad knew very little about Erik, except what Erik was willing to divulge...I learned from him that he had endured much suffering at the hands of many people, but I really know very little other than what happened in India."

Christine seemed shocked by Lavanya's words, and said nothing in response, hoping she would continue.

"In India, he was bought and traded as a gaming slave – a killing machine for the upper class." A shiver ran down Lavanya's spine as the stories she had heard told by her father and his 'patrons' echoed up the stairs to her room, "Sharad was captivated by the humanity of this European, despite the cruelty that had been dealt him for the greater part of his life; he made it his mission to liberate him."

Despite her best efforts, mournful tears crept down Lavanya's face. She tried to seem lighthearted about Erik's disappearance last night, but she was terrified that he had left and no one knew where he was.

"I knew about his time with the gypsies, at least most of it, but I never knew about his time in India…" Christine marveled, "…none of us did."

"I am certain it is a time he would rather forget….and perhaps you can enlighten me on his time with the gypsies…"

Christine frowned and dropped her eyes, "That is for Erik to do."

Lavanya nodded her agreement.

They arrived at the manor and Lavanya began to get out of the carriage, eager to find Erik; the only other place she knew of that he would have gone, was the opera house.

"Lavanya…" Christine had a hand on her forearm and an apologetic look in her eyes, "…I never meant to hurt Erik…I want you to know that. I never thought of him in a romantic way; he has always been a mentor/father figure to me…." Christine assured her, "…but that does not mean that I am not aware of how attractive he is, because I am."

Lavanya thanked her for her honesty and continued out of the carriage; all would have been fine if she had not looked up and seen Erik cantering toward them from the stables. Even with his clothing rumpled, his hair going every direction but the correct one, and his chin, cheek, and jaw covered with a dark shadow of whiskers; he was beautiful - and the sight of him made her stomach do flips.

However, the sight of him also made her miss the bottom step on the carriage ladder and she made a resounding thud as she hit the ground. Christine had started down and had to catch herself quickly to keep from having the same tumble.

Erik had seen what was happening and had forgotten all about his bleeding and broken heart.

"Lavanya!"

Her name flew from his mouth and he rushed forward. He caught Christine before she fell and hurt herself and her baby, and then bent over Lavanya and helped her to her feet.

She tried to put weight on her foot, but it crumpled out from beneath her and she almost hit the ground again – and would have, if Erik had not caught her. She grimaced in pain as a wave of nausea swept over her.

Erik put his arms beneath her, drew her warm, soft body into his arms, and carried her into the house. He ignored the wonderful way she felt against him and the sweet smell of her hair – he concentrated on getting her leg tended to.

Lavanya loved how his arms felt beneath her - strong and tender. The look of concern on his face as he had rushed forward to help her brought a song to her heart. She snaked her arms around his neck and leaned into his powerful chest.

He gently placed her on the sofa in the parlor and waited a moment while she unwound her arms from his neck. He took off his wrinkled, straw-riddled shirt…which left him shirtless before her, placed it on the chair across from her, and regarded her from beneath long, dusky lashes.

Lavanya watched the muscles play across his chest and felt her mouth go dry; how had his attractiveness escaped other women? It was beyond her how blind they all were.

_It should be against the law for a man to look that good without a shirt._ Lavanya thought, absently wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue.

"If you will permit me, Madam, I need to look at your ankle."

His deep, mesmerizing voice drew her eyes back to his equally stunning face. He was being incredibly formal despite his state of undress and despite the fact that she was his wife.

He stood, just out of her reach, and awaited her answer. She gave a slight nod of her head, not trusting herself to speak, and he bowed his head in response to her acquiesce.

His large, masculine hands were unusually gentle as he lifted her skirt only high enough to examine her left ankle. The pads of his thumbs tenderly prodded the area, without causing any pain. There was a wrinkle of concern on his face, and he spoke without lifting his eyes.

"You have a severe sprain; it probably would have been less painful to break it."

He did not crack a smile, so Lavanya assumed he was not joking. She traced her eyes over his features as he tenderly examined her ankle. Although he was Sharad's age, he had a much older soul, which shone in the subtle lines of his face.

The dusting of grey at his temples did not deter from his handsomeness; in truth, it only added to it. His face had character and a quiet dignity that came from a constant battle within himself; a battle for the right to dare to hope for something more than he had known for the majority of his life.

He felt her eyes on him and knew that he was even less presentable than normal. He suddenly felt very self-conscious about his bare upper body and the filthiness from the stables that clung to him like a blood-sucking leech.

He had forgotten about Christine lingering in her background. She sat silently in the corner chair watching him tend to Lavanya. She was impressed by his bare chest and back, also; and knew that his wife was feeling the sweet torture that his touch was certainly evoking.

He caught a glimpse of her out of the side of his eye and looked pensively over at her. He frowned deeply, feeling doubly exposed and knew they were both either laughing at his hideousness or repulsed by it.

"I apologize for my appearance…most of it I can do nothing about; however, I am in need of a bath, shave, and a clean change of clothes…" he did not look at Lavanya as he spoke, but continued to examine her ankle and the surrounding area. "It will be quite painful for several days, but you must have someone get you up several times a day and try to apply pressure. I will leave instructions with Mr. Tibbs, Mitzi, and Tarrah about the proper care."

He replaced her foot on the lounge and was out of the room before she could inquire as to what he meant. He strolled back in a few minutes later with a shirt on his back, several towels draped over his arm, and a bucket full of chipped ice in his hand.

He placed the towels, neatly folded, on the floor and then placed the bowl on top of them. He motioned for her to sit straight on the couch and place her foot in the bucket of ice. He chuckled quietly as she hissed from the cold contact against her skin.

"I know it is uncomfortable, but the swelling will be less and the pain will subside faster."

Lavanya suddenly remembered Christine and the near accident she had barely escaped.

"Is Christine going to be alright..." There was a slight hint of panic in her voice, "...and the baby?"

Erik lifted his eyes and glanced at her for a moment, but then turned from her to sit in the chair across from her.

"They are fine…," he murmured quietly, looking back at Christine. "…I will send her home in a moment."

She continued to look at him, submitting his features to memory. His eyes looked very tired and his skin was pallid – and when she had first seen him, he looked as though he had slept in his clothes. He smelled faintly of alcohol, but not overly so; mostly, he smelled like horse.

She sat quite still and listened as he gave instructions to the carriage driver to take the Vicomtess home. He seemed nervous around her and quite tense... but she knew she wanted him near her.

Part of her feared that he had taken his pleasure at a brothel since she had not been accommodating, and the thought of another woman touching him made her blood boil; the other part of her knew that he had not – for he did not even consider himself worthy of a prostitute's attentions.

He strode back into the room and noticed her frowning features. He sat on the coffee table directly in front of her and awaited the question he knew she desired to ask.

"Erik?" She asked in a whisper. "Where did you go last night?"

He hesitated to answer, wondering why she asked. He was not with her, just as she had requested; so why was it any of her business where he was?

His head dropped and he rubbed his hands together, suddenly finding his fingernails fascinating. He examined them closely, and then buffed them on the cuff of his shirt.

His eyes finally lifted and he stared into her with a pained look of betrayal and denial. In an instant, his mood seemed to change and he realized within himself the comedic irony of the situation. He would make light of it...for there was nothing more he could do.

"I had a rather wonderful, fulfilling, very intimate relationship with an entire bottle of cognac…" He attested with a sigh and finally allowed a smirk to lift his lips, "…and then - I cannot be certain – but I think I sang a rousing medley of Irish drinking songs to my faithful friend, D'Ombre and a large assortment of nocturnal wildlife."

He glanced at her with smiling eyes - seeing her doubting smile - and then stated, "I'm serious".

The unusual combination of his staggering smile, and the lighthearted tone in his voice, made Lavanya giggle; her giggle entranced him so much, that he continued with his tale.

"I think D'Ombre joined me in the final chorus of, 'All for Me Grog'…but I cannot be sure it was him, for I think there may have been an owl or two backing me up on the final stanza..."

Raucous laughter filled the room and Erik could not stop himself from going on…just to keep her laughing. His voice was as serious as he could make it and he forced the smile from his mouth.

"…my tearful rendition of, 'Oh, Danny Boy', ended with particularly strong gust of wind toppling me forward like a felled tree - face first into a pile of rather smelly hay."

Lavanya was laughing so hard that there were tears falling down her cheeks and she reached up to wipe them away with her hand.

"I have not laughed that hard in a very long time…," she stated through her final giggles.

Erik smiled slightly and looked away, he had succeeded in making her laugh, and that had been his goal.

"How does your ankle feel?"

Lavanya had forgotten about the pain in her ankle and still did not feel it.

"I do not feel the pain right now."

He nodded and smiled, "True enough, the body has its own natural pain killers and they are aroused by several things….laughter is one of them."

She looked thoroughly impressed, "Really…what else arouses them?"

Erik did not even acknowledge the sensual draw in her voice or the soft dilation in her eyes – he simply answered the question.

"Physical stimuli of any sort will work – exercise, physical pleasure, laughter…any such thing."

She marveled at his intelligence once again, and pushed aside her disappointment in his lack of response to her open flirting.

"Thank you, I feel much better..." she smiled, and then asked more seriously, "…did you really spend the night in the stables?"

Erik stood up and gave her a polite bow; he headed for the door as he spoke.

"I did…now…," he stated, and headed for the door, "…I really must return to the opera house and stake a claim on my room before those two buffoons give it to someone else – along with all of my possessions."

He felt uncomfortable in her presence, knowing how she despised him, but he could not resist the urge to remain in her glory for a while longer.

"I will request that Raoul and Christine stay here until I can find the proper staff to ensure your safety and comfort."

He moved through the door and turned to bid her good-bye.

"If it matters to you at all, I am sorry for all that has happened…my only desire is to see you happy. I also apologize for my abhorrent attitude last night…nothing transpired that I had not already anticipated…but I had high hopes…again…" one corner of his alluring mouth lifted in a smile, "…I am sorry."

Time stood still for a brief moment while Erik drew his eyes over her one more time. She looked breathtakingly beautiful and slightly rumpled – like she had tumbled around in the hay with him.

The image that jumped in his mind made his body stir and he mentally chided himself. He almost made it through the door; but the quiet, caressing sound of his name from her lips halted his progress.

"Erik?"

There were tears tracing down her cheeks; tears that should have had no effect on him at all, but he found himself moving forward and kneeling in front of her.

"Why do you cry, little one?" Erik asked with concern in his voice, "If you are in a great deal of pain, I have medicine that will make you less uncomfortable."

She shook her head, but stilled quickly as Erik's hand reached up and swept her tears away with the softest of touches. She leaned into his hand, relishing the feel of his skin on hers.

"Where is the minx that brought a would-be rapist to his knees and easily made the former Phantom crawl away with his tail between his legs?"

His tone was light and she noticed a small smirk on his delectable mouth; but his eyes were distant and still full of pain. She lifted her hand this time, and caressed his scars; he was trying to hide the agony his heart was feeling - trying to make sure that she did not know how much he was hurting.

It was not until the moment she touched his skin that Erik remembered he wore no mask. He started to stand up, but she wound her arms around his neck and pulled him down toward her; his arms extended and prevented his body from falling atop hers. When he recovered and looked at her, his lips rested a mere breath away from hers.

She placed a soft, sensual, too-quick kiss upon his surprised mouth and smiled into his shrouded eyes.

"I am so sorry…." her voice was low, and the timbre was sensually charged. "…please stay. I only want you here, no one else – if anyone's arms are going to be around me – they will be yours."

Still reeling from her sweet, unexpected kiss, Erik sat down on the edge of the couch and pulled her arms from around his neck. He placed her hands in his and kissed each one before releasing them and settling his gaze on her.

"Are you sure?" Erik stressed, "I can easily stay at the opera house...Tarrah will be here."

She smiled at his sweet insistence and his innocent reluctance. She nodded her head and reached for his hand; giving it a gentle squeeze and running her thumb over the masculine knuckles – his hand literally swallowed hers within its large, warm sanctuary.

"I am quite sure…and although I like her very much; I am not married to Tarrah…" She murmured with a smirk, "…I am married to you."

Erik did not understand her reasons, but he was certain his heart was going to suffer another major setback...he only hoped he lived through it.

TBC


	29. Chapter 29 Evil has Many Faces

I am approaching the end of the pre-written chapters, so updating will be a little harder and may slow down a tad...but I am still writing away.

Sorry for the darkness of this chapter...oh, and the lack of Erik.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 29

Mid-March was a very peculiar time of the year in parts of France. One day could be rainy and cool, another dry and cold, or it could even be warm in some places; this day, on the outskirts of Chartres, the weather was dreary and cold.

The small, but lavishly furnished chateau was beginning to feel like a prison to Pieter. His youthful exuberance was wearing a whole in the floor and he yearned to rid himself of the incessant rage that filtered through him most of the time.

For what seemed like forever, two men - one in his mid-twenties and one in his early forties – had been waiting. The madness of it all was driving the younger one further into the dark realm of insanity that had claimed him long ago.

The older one was more patient – the years having taught him that there were some things in life worth waiting for; his revenge was almost complete.

"Your father is dead...why do you still seek revenge on him?" 

Pieter was curious; his own father deserved his revenge – but his dear, doting mother was a fragile flower and his father was her life.

Yves was a patient man, but Pieter asked too many searching questions…there was some information that was to remain secret until the right time presented itself.

"You will know in time, Pieter – you must be patient."

Fury shown on his youthful, feminine features..he was growing exceedingly irritated with each passing day...and Yves was holding something from him...a secret.

"Promises, Yves…that is all you make and nothing ever comes of it." Pieter's evil smile escaped the older man, whose attention rested on the newspaper article in front of him.

Yves felt the rage pooling inside him at the impertinent youth that insisted on immediate results.

"That tone will not be tolerated...if you wish to keep your tongue, you will guard it more closely."

Pieter knew he was treading dangerous ground. Yves was calculating and cold; Pieter had found nothing that made the older man more passionate than planning the demise of others. Pieter feared him, admired him, and desired him...and it could be the death of him.

"I had wonderful plans…plans that would have made _me _happy." Pieter's eyes darkened and his voice took on an entirely different personality, "All that came to an abrupt halt when that skinny, little, tramp of an opera singer stepped into his life…she ruined everything."

Pieter looked back at the dark man who was a temporary replacement for Erik in his heart, but the fires within him did not ignite in the same manner as they did when he thought about Erik.

"Yves…are you listening?"

Bold eyes moved from the paper to the young man that stared angrily at him. Yves was quickly losing patience with his beautiful plaything. The time would come when his revenge would finally be complete – and that included doing whatever needed to be done to Pieter.

"Timing is everything, my pet…we must wait for the perfect moment to strike."

The heavily accented words rang hope in Pieter's young heart. He rushed forward and sat down in the chair next to his current mentor.

"When, Yves…when can I have him?"

Yves smiled, but there was nothing kind or reassuring about the act - it was a sneer straight from the bowels of hell.

"You must understand, Pieter…I am giving him to you, for I could do so much more with him."

Pieter felt a flurry of panic wash over him. This man could ruin all the carefully laid plans he had made over the past few years. If anything, Yves was more sinister and conniving than he was.

"You do not even know him….he is mine."

The empty eyes of the nobleman moved from Pieter back to the newspaper…it was a couple of days old, but the news made him smile mockingly.

"He is to be….married…" he took another look at the date, "…change that – he _is_ married…how does that calculate into your perfect little plan of seduction and submission?"

Fury sparked every inch of Pieter's body and he breathed deeply, trying to control the urge to strike the sculptured, handsome features of Yves Demidov.

He stalked over to where Yves sat, leaning against the frame of the chair with a smug look on his face.

He yanked the newspaper out of his hands and cringed when the older man snickered disgustingly.

"The deed is done, Pieter…an arranged marriage, apparently."

Wild eyes scanned the written words, doubting the veracity of every line. A quiet, dangerous growl began low in Pieter's chest. He ripped the paper to shreds and threw the tattered pieces into the fire.

He collapsed onto the luxurious carpet that ran wall to wall in the spacious room. He stared into the spitting embers of the dancing fire; hate mixed with uncontrolled lust burrowed through every vein in his heated body.

Yves did not bother to go to him, knowing that the young man was beyond consolation; not that it really mattered…the whole thing had to be some sort of mistake.

"This was never supposed to happen…you assured me…"

Pieter was mumbling – almost incoherently – beneath his breath. His body pulsed with palpable anger that only amplified his insanity.

Therein lay the difference between them…Pieter was completely and utterly insane; Yves knew it and accepted it – knowing there would come a time to rid himself of the pleasure of his company.

Yves was not a sick man, just an evil one. He could not remember a time when the need to destroy and vindicate did not command him. He answered its call and did its bidding – willingly and freely.

He supposed, if he had to trace it back to some sort of origin, he would lay it at the feet of his father. Abusive in all ways imaginable – and some that were not – Demetrius Demidov had been the epitome of Russian nobility in his time.

Considered one of the top members of the Boyar Duma, he earned a noble place among the princes of Russia and sealed the fate of his young son; if only it had been a good fate.

If anyone had ever hated their own child, Demetrius had been that person. There was no love between them at all – just a seething hatred born from the doubt Demetrius had about whom Yves' real father was.

Despite Katerina Demidov's insistence that she had been faithful to him, Demetrius had stood stoically by as they beheaded her for the crime and embarrassment of adultery.

From that moment on, Yves had been the reminder of his mothers supposed unfaithfulness – it did not matter that he was a smaller version of Demetrius in every way – except the color of his eyes.

_"I will not continue to suffer because of the deceitfulness of women...bewitching me with their beauty and then coercing me into things…" deep blue eyes centered on the boy whose very existence deteriorated Demetrius' position with the princes, "…and you are no different…nor was your brother!" _

Yves could still hear his father screaming those words into his young face while his large fist connected with his already bruised body. There was no reprieve, not ever.

There had been even worse humiliation when his father had discovered where Yves' true desire lay one afternoon in one of the servant's quarters. Yves could not even remember the name of the young man he had been caught with…he just remembered being in love at the time.

He scoffed as he sat there observing the sulking form of Pieter. It had been the sweetest revenge – like savoring a finely aged wine – when Yves had plunged a dagger through his father's black heart; and even sweeter to discover the evil in his own heart made his father's pale in comparison.

"Come here, my pet…" Yves crooned, "…you can still have him."

Pieter lifted hollow eyes and accepted the manicured hand that reached down to draw him into strong, giving arms.

"I will not go back on my word…we must make him suffer though…"

Pieter frowned, even while the older man pushed the shirt from his shoulders and ran warm, wonderful hands up the middle of his chest – caressing and kissing his way to Pieter's waiting lips.

"His body is mine, Yves…you promised."

His voice was breathy and low as the desire began to build within him.

"And it shall be, precious….I am not interested in his _body_…" Pieter marveled at that, for Erik was beautiful of form, "….but…" Yves took Pieter's hand and led his naked, god-like body to the soft bed, "…I _am_ interested in _your_ body."

"What must I do...to make him mine…." Pieter pleaded.

Yves' smile was full of seductive scheming and cunning evil, "….take what is precious to him."

Pieter's eyes drifted shut as he sank into the skilled hands and mouth of his beautiful lover. His mind was filled with images of Erik and the sounds of his music drifting through the corridors of the opera house and its deepest, most hidden places.

"Her….we need to take her…."

Yves ceased his erotic game and looked Pieter in the eyes.

"Think Pieter….it is an arranged marriage and I have reliable sources that tell me it is not a match made of love…."

Pieter was thoroughly confused, but equally intrigued.

"Who then?"

Another sickening smirk danced upon Yves' lips.

"There is only one that he loves most in this world…"

TBC


	30. Chapter 30 When is a Kiss Just a Kiss?

Have a great Mother's Day to all my readers and reviewers that are mothers. God bless you.

I have added a picture in my profile - titled - "Gerik". It is a photoshop picture of what I picture Erik to look like in this story.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 30

Erik agreed to stay, although he was not certain what the outcome would be. Her kiss had only served to further confuse him…he had no idea what it meant…but he wished she would do it again; he just hoped it was not an act of pity.

He tried to anticipate her every need, bringing her a book to read while she recuperated, and a pillow to rest her foot on and another for her head. He opened the curtains wide, flooding the room with warm, inviting sunshine and instructed Mitzi to run a bath for him.

"I leave you to your book. I am in need of a bath and a shave..." he bowed politely and started for the door, "…is there anything you need before I leave?"

Lavanya looked him directly in the eye and pouted ruefully.

"You _are_ coming back?"

He raised a brow and smirked bemusedly.

"If you wish it."

She smiled and nodded - causing her long, dark tresses to spill over her shoulders and wink at him. He watched them cascade over her feminine shoulders with avid eyes, eager to feel its softness trickle through his fingers.

She watched him go, still amazed at the ease and grace with which he moved. His long, lean legs and shapely backside were quite wonderful to look at as he strode down the long hallway.

_I do not know which is better, watching him leave a room or enter it. _

She settled back, shaped the pillow he had given her, and picked up her book. It was going to be quite dull until he came back – and Tarrah would not return for a few hours - so the book was her sole source of entertainment.

She could not get interested in the book and actually felt quite drowsy; it had been a long night after Erik left, and the morning had started out with a high level of anxiety.

She put the book down and shifted about until she was able to rest her head against the pillow while reclining fully. Her eyes drifted shut, but her mind remained on Erik.

He was still very formal toward her – but she was certain she saw his beautiful eyes dance with desire when he looked at her a few moments ago.

_He will not act upon it; I know that – he feels that I will reject him. _

She had no more than gotten the thought out, when she heard Tarrah in the hallway. It was a surprise, considering she was supposed to be auditioning for the lead role in the latest Lacroix opera.

She had apparently inquired about Lavanya's whereabouts and quickly made her way toward the parlor.

"What happened?"

Her words were not accusing, but Lavanya dropped her eyes in a guilty manner.

"We had a misunderstanding…and I ended up hurting him so terribly."

Tarrah frowned and sat down on the lounger next to her.

"I was talkin' 'bout your ankle." Tarrah teased, hoping to make Lavanya smile.

Lavanya lifted her eyes and smiled; Tarrah giggled, and they shared a sisterly moment.

"I heard about what happened, Christine and Annette were at the opera house and I overheard them…." Tarrah lifted her chin and stared down her nose at Lavanya, "…it seems most of ya think I am too young to know what is goin' on, but I understand perfectly well."

"Tarrah…"

"I do…" the young woman continued, "…I have lived with Erik for two years as 'is ward. I know his mood swings, his boiling point, and his soft spots."

Lavanya heard the determination in the young woman's voice and decided to listen to her – she had an insight on Erik that no other woman had ever had.

Lavanya sat up straighter on the lounge and grimaced slightly as her ankle slammed against the hard surface of the sofa's arm.

"I have to make him understand that I want this marriage – with him, and no one else. At first I had no desire to be married; I was afraid of marrying a man who would try to put me in a box and only allow me out when he saw fit; but I know that Erik is not that kind of man."

Tarrah shook her head in agreement and looked around the large room.

"Where is he anyway?"

"He is taking a bath and promised he would be back down, soon."

Tarrah chuckled and shook her head amusingly.

"I do believe he is the cleanest Frenchman I have ever known."

Lavanya echoed with a chuckle of her own.

"Yes…and he always smells so wonderful…except for this morning…" she whispered, wrinkling her nose, "…he slept in the stables with D'Ombre and managed to polish off an entire bottle of something called cognac."

Tarrah's mouth formed in a half frown/half smile, and she was fighting back the urge to break out into a full-fledged laugh.

"What!?"

"He slept in the stables with the horse…after our misunderstanding last night."

Tarrah rolled her eyes and slid onto the sofa beside Lavanya, careful not to touch her sore ankle.

"Help me, Tarrah…help me to help him see that he is worthy of everything I can give him…and so much more…." Lavanya lowered her pleading eyes and smiled, "…I will not permit intimacy until he feels worthy enough to at least touch me without thinking I am going to recoil from him – he openly berates himself for feeling attracted to me."

Tarrah furrowed her brow in concern.

"So you two really did _not_ have a wedding night…I thought the rumors were not true."

Lavanya shook her head and a dark shadow crossed her eyes.

"For as long as I have known him, Erik has wanted a family – wife, children – the whole picture; however, I also know that he is love shy and will not risk his heart again…it almost killed him last time."

The earnest truth of Tarrah's words made so much sense to Lavanya.

"I found it hard to reason with him at times…he has never been around women. He was not familiar with our mood swings; he did not grow up around girls and does not know how to flirt or recognize when a woman is interested in him…" Tarrah leaned in and winked, "…and there have been several women interested in him over the last couple of years."

Lavanya pursed her lips and playfully frowned. "He is mine, they cannot have him."

"Then I suggest you not take too long to stake your claim my dear…I have seen the same look in the eyes of the women of Paris….they are interested."

"As well they should be…" Lavanya countered, "…he is a beautiful man, and the fact that he has no idea of this is even more endearing."

Tarrah agreed with her and then leaned forward with her arms across her knees; she lifted one arm and perched her chin on her fist.

"So, what is the plan?"

Lavanya briefly closed her eyes and wrinkled her brow in thought.

"I need to let him know through my own actions that I enjoy his touch and his caresses…" she thought about his soft, sweet, barely tasted lips, "…and I want more kisses – his first one left me vibrating with a hunger I have never known before."

Tarrah smiled and closed her eyes in romantic joy.

"My gracious…how will you ever keep from breaking your own vow if you react to him so strongly?"

Lavanya let out a long breath and smiled sweetly.

"I am sure that I have no idea what you are talking about."

Tarrah laughed and leaned in to her, "I am talkin' aboot beddin' him!"

Her Irish accent was very pronounced in that last statement and Lavanya almost laughed aloud, but she managed to look properly shocked.

"Tarrah!" Lavanya gasped and then playfully narrowed her eyes, "Are you sure you are only seventeen?"

Tarrah chuckled and playfully shrugged her shoulders.

"In two days, I will turn eighteen…but yes, right now I am seventeen."

"How did you get so wise?"

"It helps to live with a genius…I think it absorbs through the skin!"

They both shared a laugh and spent the next few minutes drinking tea.

♥♦♣♠

Meanwhile, Erik scrubbed the nastiness off his skin, hoping that no remnants of stable smell and horse grunge remained on his person.

He washed his hair and determined it was time for a haircut; he had let it go on long enough. He had not actually had one for over a year…and he was certain he resembled a wooly mammoth.

His thoughts were jumbled – rotating between the opera house, his compositions, and Lavanya. Suddenly, it seemed she wanted him around, even after his complete idiocy the night before. He felt it was hoping for too much for her to want still to be his friend, but he allowed himself the luxury of hoping.

His head was beginning to pound incessantly, and he had to think hard to remember the last time that he had actually eaten. The reception yesterday had not seemed like a good time to indulge, as he had to eat without the mask. Before that, it had been a couple of days since he had eaten.

He finished his bath and donned a white cotton, pullover shirt; a pair of black and white, pinstripe trousers; a black jacquard vest, and black boots. He did a quick look at himself in the mirror; he decided at the last minute to put on the black domino mask. It did not matter that she had seen him without a mask; he felt he should make any contact she had with him as pleasant as possible.

He had already made up his mind to go have his hair cut, so he pulled on a pair of riding gloves and headed downstairs; his need for food all but forgotten.

He absently moved into the parlor while fastening the cuffs of this shirt and quickly lifted his eyes when Tarrah spoke to him.

"Would you care for some tea, Erik?"

He mumbled what sounded like a no, after looking back down at his cuffs and finally managing to finish them. He found his coat and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

Lavanya's soft question stopped his retreat and he turned toward her.

She cocked her head to the side upon seeing him with the black mask covering the upper part of his face; even with it, he looked devastatingly handsome with his twinkling, dark eyes and full, kissable lips.

He was not used to giving accountability for his whereabouts, and found it rather odd that she even seemed to care…but he answered, "I am going to go to the opera house and have Annette cut my hair…I resemble a shabby, barnyard animal."

Lavanya shook her head and shifted on the couch to look at him better.

"Please…let me cut it…" She chuckled when his brow wrinkled in confusion and his mouth opened slightly, "…or rather, trim it. It doesn't need to be cut."

With her extended hand and sweet smile, she beckoned him toward her. He tentatively sat down on the couch beside her and almost bolted from the room when her slender, long-fingered hand made its way toward his black locks.

She touched the soft tips and felt the silkiness caress her fingers; he had beautiful hair.

His eyes drifted shut as she looked at him with interested, non-judgmental gazes. When he opened them again, she was smiling at him; he did not even realize that Tarrah had left the room.

"The black mask brings your eyes to the forefront – their ocean color is enhanced by the mask…you have beautiful eyes, Erik."

He startled at her words and drew back from her hand.

"My eyes?" He repeated; his face a gratifying study in shock and confusion, "You noticed my eyes?"

She giggled and lifted her hand once again – she watched his eyes follow her hand as it moved to caress his exposed jaw and chin.

"A woman would have to be blind not to notice countless beautiful things about you, Erik."

He stood up and his face was suddenly blank. His voice was smooth, but held a hint of lethal self-mockery.

"You are laughing at me."

Her features immediately went serious and she managed to grab his hand before he got away.

"Sit, Erik…you are going to hear this and then I am going to trim your hair."

He scowled suspiciously at her surprisingly strong hold and stern tone; but he relented by sitting down beside her, once again.

His eyes remained fixed on nothing in particular – the floor, the painting on the wall, his gloved hands…anything but her lovely face.

"Erik, please look at me."

He did, but it was not something that he wanted to do. He briefly scanned her face and then settled on her eyes.

"I was not laughing at you…please understand that."

Her voice and her eyes were pleading for him to be reasonable and allow her to explain. Against his better judgment, he remained seated and patiently urged her to continue.

"Do you always assume that when a woman compliments you, she is laughing at you?"

He silently weighed his words, not wanting to evoke any pity or appear to be seeking attention – he would never do such a thing.

"Women do not compliment me – unless you consider shrieking at the top of their lungs, fainting at the mere sight of my face, or being frozen in fear, as compliments – then yes…I get that all the time."

Bitterness crept into each word, although she could tell he did not mean for it to. He was relaying everything he had experienced in his life and she knew he honestly felt that what he said was true – years of conditioning – she supposed.

She did not touch him with her hands, as it seemed he felt threatened in some way when she did. Instead, she caressed his features with her eyes and smiled softly – hoping the combination would relax him.

"I have done none of those things, and yet you do not accept my compliments….why?"

He sat up straighter, surprised at the honesty of the question. She was correct – she had done none of those things…but she could not possibly expect him to believe that he possessed some sort of beauty that women noticed.

"Lavanya…I know beauty when I see it; I have surrounded myself with it all of my life…" he gave a waning smile and scoffed lightly, "…I suppose I hoped it would seep into my skin and alter my appearance."

He lifted his wandering gaze back to her and continued – his face wrapped in helpless dismay.

"My entire life has been one ugly experience after another, but focusing on the beautiful things around me has kept me from slipping into the dark abyss of insanity – at least on a permanent basis…" his brow wrinkled slightly and he seemed distant, "…Christine and Raoul would probably be the best ones to explain my descent into darkness."

In his silent pause, Lavanya decided to respond, "Christine harbors no hard feelings for you, Erik…she loves you in her own way…like a best friend who helped her through the toughest years of her life."

Erik's tempestuous eyes lifted and narrowed; the question was out before he could stop himself.

"Then why did she kiss me?"

At that moment, Lavanya was thankful that Christine had shared that information with her. They had discussed it in detail – just to set things straight between them.

"To free you, Erik…that is why."

His frown deepened and his head reared back, "_Free_ me…from what?"

"She wanted you to realize that you are not alone – that you have people that care about you if you would just allow them to do so. The only one preventing that from happening was you."

He abruptly stood and moved away from her, his thunderous brow wrought full of dismal, self-mocking fortitude. His voice, when he spoke, was menacingly low – but still made her melt.

"People pity me with their sad, judging eyes and diminished spirits…" he spat, "…I do not want or need anyone's pity…I have survived on my own wits since I was six years old…I am quite capable of taking care of myself."

His words tore at her heart and tears sprang to her eyes…he did not see the injustice of what had happened to him – he obviously felt he deserved it; he assumed that all anyone – especially a woman - would ever feel for him, was pity.

"Please do not be angry with me, Erik…I am not trying to upset you – but I need to understand a few things and make clear a few things."

He gave one firm shake of his head and dropped his somber eyes, "I am not angry at you…I have never been angry with you…" He looked at her quickly and then looked away again, "…my anger is focused on me…and no one else."

A soft knock on the door alerted them to someone's presence. Lavanya immediately smiled and greeted Christine as she entered; Erik stood, but remained aloof.

"Greetings, Monsieur and Madam Lacroix, it is good to see you both this lovely day…again."

Lavanya pulled herself up straighter on the couch and motioned for Christine to come in and sit down.

"Is Raoul with you?"

"Oh no, he had some sort of meeting in town…he will not be home until much later…I asked him to allow me to come and visit you."

Erik stood stiff backed against the backdrop of the parlor…his heart gave a lurch when Christine referred to Lavanya as Madam Lacroix – he was not certain how she felt about that title.

"Erik, you do look splendid – I enjoy seeing you in something other than formal wear."

His brow lifted amusingly and he quickly made a sweep of his own form in the full-length, wall mirror directly across the room.

"Yes, he does – I was about to trim his hair a little bit – but we were discussing some things first."

"Why did you kiss me when I mean nothing to you?"

Erik blurted the question out before he could stop himself, but he was not about to act remorseful for having done so.

Stunned silence was the first response.

"You think you mean nothing to me?" Christine stated. "You mean a great deal to me…but I have never seen you as a romantic interest…." his eyes narrowed and she knew what he was thinking, "…and before you say it, my feelings have nothing to do with the deformity."

Erik lifted his chin, defying her words with his eyes.

"Not everyone is so petty about such things, Erik…after I saw it one time, I saw it no more."

Lavanya was nodding her head in agreement.

"By kissing you, I was hoping to convey to you that I find you attractive and that you are a vital and important part of humanity…" Christine emphasized, "…it was not a kiss of passion – for you are more like a big brother to me…or a best friend – but I needed to do it."

Erik thought about her words and realized what a fool he was. He was a grown man with little or no knowledge of the acts of courting or intimacy…what good was he?

"I did not know of such kisses…I am sorry." He mumbled; choosing to ignore what she said about finding him attractive…she had to be joking.

"There are different levels of kisses, Erik…different types." Christine shared. "How have you lived in an opera house for so long and not realized this?"

Erik felt that she was laughing at him and that did not bode well, but he kept his temper in check.

"I simply did not care to know…it is a part of life that eludes me…." He stated, looking away from both of them. "…I shall continue to live in blissful oblivion."

The conversation came to a halt as Blanche McGhee stepped through the door and Erik immediately smiled at her. He had not seen her since he had left London; it was good to have her back.

"Blanche, I am so pleased that you came."

She scoffed and shrugged her soft shoulders.

"What, and allow these young women to monopolize your attention…I think not Monsieur Lacroix. I enjoy having those jade eyes look at me."

She ran her eyes over his frame and regarded him with a one-sided smirk.

"Lunch is served in the informal dining room, sir…" he flared his eyes at her, "…Monsieur Lacroix…" she corrected with a grin, "…Madam Lacroix..."

Lavanya noticed the friendly exchange the two shared and assumed this older woman had been in his employ for a few years.

"I hired her in London three years ago…we understand each other."

Erik was hesitant to follow, but his stomach protested – insisting on sustenance. He glanced at Lavanya, who sat patiently waiting for him to carry her to the dining room. He brushed aside his insecurities for the time being and effortlessly lifted her into his strong arms.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiled sweetly, and then rested her head on his chest – listening to his rapid, steady heartbeat. He would know the difference in kisses – she would see to that.

"Christine, join us…please." Lavanya threw over his broad shoulder.

Erik rolled his eyes and felt another wave of panic engulf him. He had little desire to eat in front of his wife – and even less to eat in front of Christine.

He placed her in the chair and moved it under the table. He then went around to the other side and pulled the chair out for Christine. He hesitated from there and Lavanya sensed his unease.

"Sit down, my husband…enjoy the meal."

He inclined his head and spoke softly.

"I normally eat without the mask…I will take my meal in the music room."

He turned to leave, but Blanche and Lavanya both honed in on him.

"I do not think so young man….this young lady is your wife. Has she seen your scars?"

Erik shockingly nodded.

"Then why are you leaving?" Blanche insisted, her hands on her broad hips. "You are not turning back into the shadow that you were when I first came to work for you…I will not allow it."

She glanced at Christine.

"Has she seen your scars?"

He nodded again, still baffled by her strong defense of him.

"Then eat, you mule-headed man."

Erik's mouth dropped open at the same time that he dropped into his chair. He stared after the middle-aged woman as she moved from the room, and then he lifted his mouth in a heart-stirring smile.

"Did she just call me a mule-headed man?" He asked, not expecting an answer. "Did she mean that my head resembles a mule's or that I am stubborn…could be either…?" He chuckled, "…or both?"

"Oh Erik, it is so good to see you smile – you have a gorgeous smile."

Christine giggled - a look of pure adoration on her face. Erik watched the twinkle in her eyes and realized - perhaps for the first time – that she did care about him - in some way.

"Do I?" he responded, not sure of what to say past that.

"Yes…and you _are _a stubborn man…in many ways." Lavanya agreed.

He lifted tentative eyes to Christine, and gave a matching smile, "Am I to conclude that it is not pity that you feel toward me?"

Her smile lessened, but did no fade away entirely, "No Erik, although I may have indicated it, I never felt pity toward you….you are far too strong in character for me to pity."

He nodded his acceptance.

"I suppose I can eat with this mask on…it is not as constricting as the half-mask is."

Lavanya smiled and shook her head chidingly.

"Take it off, Erik…you are among family." She leaned over and rested her hand atop his, making him warm all over, "Besides, I will tell you sometime what I think about your masks."

His brow lifted in amused bewilderment; what could she mean by that?

TBC


	31. Chapter 31 Love is in the Air

Another side-story, but a pleasant one.

Enjoy.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 31

It was well into the afternoon before Raoul stopped by to get Christine. It was still awkward between Erik and him, but it seemed to be getting less so.

Not five minutes after they left, Richard showed up - Erik was desperately needed at the opera house to help smooth over the roughest areas and get the wrinkles ironed out of the musical compositions.

He left Lavanya in Tarrah's capable hands and promised to return as soon as possible.

He and Richard hardly spoke during the carriage ride. However, Erik knew there were a few things he needed to ask.

"What are your intentions concerning Annette?"

His blunt question circled the air of the carriage wistfully until Richard released the breath he had been holding.

"Right now, she barely gives me the time of day."

Erik knew this to be the truth. Annette was playing the coy, hard-to-get woman and she was not certain that she wanted to be caught. Richard was nice enough, but he was not the adventurous man Annette's husband had been – although he had turned out to be bad news and had abandoned her and his infant daughter before the sun rose on their second anniversary.

"That was not my question." Erik stated dryly.

Richard shrugged his shoulders and ran a large, shaking hand through his dark hair.

"Erik, I have had my time with young, no-nothings that only want an older man to line their purses with cash, frost their bodies with jewels, and buy them the most expensive home he can afford."

Erik had never had a woman want any of that from him, so he was finding it hard to relate to Richards supposed problem.

"My first wife left me for a younger man…and because I was more married to the love of money than I was to her….she took my only son with her…." His voice trailed off in a hushed after-thought – lost in the past.

"Annette is a beautiful, passionate woman with a lust for life and a deep loyalty to those she loves…I find in her everything that my life has been lacking all of these years."

Erik had not heard of Richard's son, not having taken the time to learn of their personal lives. He found himself curious about the boy.

"You have a son…I did not know this."

Richard smiled sadly, but his eyes held a proud glow that Erik assumed only came from the sacred bond a father had with his child.

"Yes…Jordane…." Richard felt the name of his son sooth the ache in his heart. "…it has been seven years since I last saw him, but I received word the other day that he is coming to Paris to see me."

Erik assumed this was good news by the look on the older man's face.

"How old is he and what does he do?"

Richard was all too anxious to answer any questions about his son.

"He is twenty-six and he has just graduated from Oxford University with a degree in Medical Science…he is quite intelligent, despite being my son."

Erik was intrigued. Firmin was in his mid-fifties and had a son in his mid-twenties; he must have married late in life.

"We had been trying to have a child for years, and we were suddenly blessed with one after being married for fifteen years." He looked at Erik and smiled, finally looking like the Richard that Erik knew him to be. "His mother past about three months ago, and he is thinking of settling in or around Paris and opening his own medical practice…" he could not hide his pleased look, "…I hope to persuade him to do just that."

Erik had ascertained the information he had been seeking. Richard was ready to settle down, perhaps ease out of the opera business and grow old in the arms of a good woman…he wanted that woman to be Annette.

They arrived at the opera house and Erik got out of the carriage first. They proceeded up the brick steps toward the door and Erik allowed Richard to sweep through the opening first.

"You will have to step up your efforts Richard, she had been hurt in the past…very badly and is skittish about another relationship."

Richard smirked and extended his hand to Erik. The younger, larger man took it and shook it firmly.

"Does this mean that I have your blessing to pursue her?"

Erik chuckled, "I am not her father, her brother, or any such person…Annette makes her own decisions…besides, you were pursuing her long before I got here."

Richard rolled his eyes and scoffed, "I think I had an easier time convincing you than I will her."

♦♠♥♣

Raoul sat in the carriage beside his glowing wife and gently rested his hand on her extended abdomen. He enjoyed these moments when it was just the two of them. There were too many servants at the manor and the watching, judgmental eyes of his parents and brother were always nearby.

The baby seemed to be responding to him lately, there had been a few times when the strong, distinct kicks had brought a smile to his face and a jump to his heart. He wanted this baby with every beat of his heart; and the weeks were counting down to its arrival.

"I think you have finally won over my mother…by leaving the opera house behind you have proven you are committed to me…" he stated quietly, knowing that Christine was not fully accepting of her decision to leave. "…I am sorry that it took that drastic of a measure."

Christine smiled at him and caressed his smooth face with the palm of her hand.

"I left the opera for us, Raoul…not her. She would have never stopped hounding you about it and I could not stand one more minute of her imperious attitude."

Raoul arched his tawny brow and smirked.

"You have certainly developed an inner strength I never expected, my love."

She grinned and reclined her head onto his broad, slender shoulder.

"We women have to fight for our man…Lavanya has taught me that."

"How is she?" Raoul asked, concerned about the beautiful new addition to Erik's life.

"Sore…and her pride is a little bruised…but other than that, she is fine."

"How are they getting along?"

He really wanted to know, Erik had been a thorn in his side for too long, it was time to grow up and move on. The man was a genius and the source of his wife's incredible talent; he could share her heart with him now that he knew it was not a romantic love she felt for the darkly handsome, mysterious man.

Christine explained about the talk she had had with Lavanya and the struggles she was encountering with Erik.

"So…" Raoul surmised, "…she only wants to be his friend?"

He could not wrap his male mind around that concept. Erik must be going completely mad with desire at having that beautiful, alluring woman in his home as his wife and not be allowed to be intimate with her.

Christine just stared at his soft blue eyes, wondering why men were so obtuse at times.

"No, Raoul…that is not what I said."

He rolled his eyes and sat straight up, amused by the reproachful look her eyes.

"You said she does not want intimacy…what more would they be other than friends?"

Christine chuckled, took a deep breath, and gave an exasperated shake of her head.

"What I said was…she does not want intimacy right NOW…she wants him to recognize her desire for him and act upon his own desires before taking their relationship to the next level." Christine lifted her own brow and allowed Raoul to take in her words before continuing. "She very much wants him – on all levels – but he has to realize he is worthy of her before it happens."

"Even kissing or hand holding?"

Raoul was incredulous about the situation, he actually felt like going and taking Erik out for a night of drinking and card playing; in fact, he decided he would do just that – Tuesday night, when he and Phillip hosted the poker game at the men's club, he would invite Erik.

"Oh no, she will insist upon those things…" Christine smiled broadly, "…she has only kissed him twice – once at the wedding – and once, very quickly, at the manor." Christine winked at her husband and cuddled into the warmth of his arms once again. "She says he has the sweetest, softest, most kissable lips of any man she has ever known."

Raoul lifted an accusing, amused brow, "And do you agree with her?"

Christine giggled and kissed his cheek, "They are soft and very sweet – as far as I can remember – but he did not kiss me back like he did her. Besides, I did not kiss him because I was _in_ love with him, I kissed him to show him that I love and care for him as a friend and that he is not alone."

Raoul kissed her forehead and caressed her cheek with his smooth fingers. It still seemed like cruel punishment on a man whose entire life had been devoid of any female companionship…dangling an enticing morsel like Lavanya in front of him only to yank it away when he was ready to partake…very cruel indeed.

"Did you ask him about teaching our children?"

Christine shook her head, "Not yet, I fear he will not because of how I treated him."

Raoul gave her a gentle squeeze and smiled down at her, "Give Erik more credit than that…he is – among other things – a professional and a gentleman."

She assured him that she would talk to him about it; just as soon as everything calmed down a little bit.

♦♥♠♣

Phillip had been so against keeping the opera house open; his brothers infatuation with the diva four years ago had cast a rather murky shadow over his families reputation.

He had been convinced that nothing would convince him to support the funding of that disreputable establishment again. Of course, all of that had changed a couple of days ago.

Actually, if Phillip was honest with himself, it had changed several months ago. He had been away on business for a couple of years after Raoul married Christine, and had never had much of a chance to get to know the woman-child that had captured his younger brothers heart.

When he had arrived back, he had seen the waning financial standing of the opera house and the way it was weighting down his families holdings. He immediately set out on a mission to rid his family of the obligation.

His father was not the businessman he had once been, and his health was failing, it was left in Phillip's capable and frugal hands to get the family back to where it needed to be.

He had immediately left on another business investment trip and had only recently returned, hellbent on closing down the opera house and opening a reputable music auditorium.

His most recent trip had been to Russia and he had meant a tremendous man there, one whose musical talents impressed him – much as the Phantom's had.

Nikolai sat beside him now, waiting on another glimpse of the young woman whose voice and angelic features had stolen Phillips heart. There was little he could do to fight the growing interest he had in her, so he chose to embrace it.

She floated across the stage – seemingly one with the air; her strawberry blond hair floated around her like a sunny halo, leaving Phillip without a breath to rely on.

Nikolai, only a few years older than Phillip, had been married for four years and was a father of two small children. The older man listened to the music and was staggered by the orchestration, hearing sounds and chords he had never imagined before.

"You have decided not to close the opera house, yes?" Nikolai asked in fluent, heavily accented English.

He spoke no French, and Phillip was fluent in several languages, one of them being English; but he did not speak Russian.

"Actually, a man bought it from us and has turned it completely around. His music is what you hear; he is an amazing businessman and musician."

Nikolai seemed impressed and eager to meet this genius.

"He is very closed off to the public. He has been ill-treated all his life because of a deformity on the right side of his face."

The shrewd businessman in Phillip wanted to hone in on Erik's success, but he had promised Raoul he would stay out. They had developed a rather fragile respect for one another and all seemed to be going well.

The Russian arched a brow and turned his warm, dark gray eyes to his new friend.

"What is this man's name, I must meet him."

"Erik Lacroix is what he is called officially, but he was often called The Phantom of the Opera in years past."

Nikolai nodded and ran his hand over his bearded chin. He was anxious to meet this young man whose music was clearly progressive and outstanding.

"Court the young woman, Phillip, life it too short for such games."

Phillips gnawed on his bottom lip with audacious thoughts going through his head. He had stayed clear of the opera house and all the decadent sins that seemed to breed within its walls; but when he had discovered the financial turn around that had occurred, he decided to subdue his misgivings and see for himself what was so alluring about the opera.

He did not even know her name - not that is mattered; she had already captured his heart in her small hands and he found thoughts of her invading his mind at the oddest times of the day.

Phillip was no stranger to women and their coy ways. He had shared his bed with a few tasty, genteel women…but this woman was more of an innocent consuming fire than anything else – and Phillip _wanted _to be burned.

His dark blond hair with its sweeping waves had felt numerous fingers sidle through it; begging him for more. His keen, deep blue eyes were a favorite among the ladies and he seldom disappointed them by not winking them in their direction. His features were chiseled and broader than those of his younger brother; but Raoul was considered the more handsome of the two in the society circles.

Of course, none of this made any difference to Phillip – his looks had never impressed him - he just enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman; but he had been hard pressed for the past week to think of anyone but the songbird on the stage.

Nikolai stood up and made his way toward the stage. He gave an inquiring look to Phillip, making the younger man stand to his feet and follow.

"What are you doing?" Phillip whispered as they inched toward the stage.

Nikolai answered by whispering over his shoulder, "You are a twenty-seven year old man who cannot seem to rustle up enough courage to approach a beautiful woman he is interested in…" Nikolai grinned and stabbed his own finger into his own chest. "…I will help you."

Phillip was horrified. He froze where he stood and it took Nikolai several moments to realize that his friend was no longer beside him.

Before Nikolai could retrace his steps and physically grab Phillip by the arm and drag to the stage, Phillip regained his composure, stood tall and proud, and followed his Russian friend onto the stage.

A peculiar looking, little man stopped them before the hit the top step with a thrust of his hand into the air.

"By whose authority do you enter?"

Phillip must have stuttered his words, for Nikolai rolled his eyes and chuckled.

"I am Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. I am an aspiring composer and the music I have heard this afternoon has been splendid, I was hoping to meet the composer."

The short man eyed them both with suspicion, but then he seemed to recognize Phillip.

"Count de Chagny, I apologize for my rudeness…I was not told you were coming."

Phillips bowed his head and found his voice, "It is quite fine, my good man…I no longer finance the opera house, so I did not make my visit publicized."

Most every one on the stage had stopped to see what the ruckus was all about; including the dancers.

"The composer is Erik Lacroix and he is not here today…he has recently been wed…"

"Say no more…." Nikolai stated with a smile and a laugh, "…I understand. Do you know when he will return?"

"He comes in every now and then; we last saw him yesterday afternoon." One of the dancers offered.

"He oversees all of the musical interludes, all of the chorus and orchestra numbers, as well as the dancers." Another dancer countered.

Before Phillip had a chance to prepare himself, the woman of his dreams appeared before him – a vision in pink.

"I know him personally...I can introduce you."

He could not take his eyes from her. Her beauty was even more ethereal than he had thought. He had thought she looked like a pixy, straight out of a dreamland, but upon closer examination, she was a princess with a halo of blushed gold.

"I would very much like that, but I do not wish to disturb him at home…I will meet him at another time." Nikolai insisted. "This is my good friend, Count Phillip de Chagny, I will be staying at his family's manor for the next few days"

Phillip nodded, his alert eyes never leaving the shape of the woman he was convinced he loved more than anyone else on the planet.

She was petite but willowy and Phillip could not resist admiring the lustrous coils of blond hair that flirted with the graceful length of her neck. His eyes admiringly flowed to the generous swell of her bosom and the flat plane of her abdomen…and finally ran the length of her lean, strong legs.

Nikolai cleared his throat and Phillip glanced up to find her blue eyes fixed on his; he saw a blush whisper across her cheeks as he reached his hand out and gently grasped hers, bringing it to his mouth for a kiss.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle…"

She curtsied with a coy smile. "…Sheldon…my name is Tarrah Sheldon."

TBC


	32. Chapter 32 A Taste is Never Enough

Thank you for the review and thank you for the encouraging words. God bless.

I have decided to cease trying to write Tarrah's Irish accent...it is just too worrisome. Just know, that when she talks, she is speaking with an Irish accent...I know that does it for you.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 32

For the next couple of days, the opera house had demanded a great deal of Erik's time; leaving Lavanya to rely on Mrs. McGhee and Mr. Tibbs for entertainment and comfort.

Although the ankle was less sore, she still was unable to put very much weight on it. They brought her meals to her and occasionally she was able to use one of them as a crutch to move from place to place.

By the evening of the second day, Lavanya felt as though she had read every book in the extensive library, and studied each pattern on the ceiling and walls until she knew them intimately.

Tarrah had not spent much time at the manor lately…she seemed to be interested in a young man that she was quite secretive about – something that Erik found unacceptable. On one of the rare moments that they were both home at the same time, they had butted heads over the developing relationship; it had not ended well and they had not spoken since.

**_FLASHBACK _**

_"Is there a particular reason why you cannot attend dinner tonight…Mrs. McGhee is preparing a special meal for your birthday." _

_Erik was trying not to lose his patience, but Tarrah was hiding something…or rather, someone…from him; something she had never done before – at least, not that he knew of. _

_"I made other plans…we can do it tomorrow night." _

_Erik lifted an uncompromising brow and his eyes echoed the same sentiment. _

_"Young lady, we always spend your birthday together…what other plans could you possibly have?" _

_Tarrah was equally as stubborn – perhaps more so – and she stood before him with her hands on her hips; looking every bit the determined, head-strong woman that Erik knew her to be. _

_It only took a few moments for dawning to spread across Erik's face and for his eyes to take on a dangerous glint. _

_"Who is he?" _

_If her chin had not lifted in a show of will, Erik may have dropped the subject, thinking it was something else…but he was too adept at reading defiance and secrecy in other people. _

_"With your tone biting into me with such caustic precision, I do not believe that I will answer you." _

_Those words served to infuriate him even more. They stood, inches away from each other, each defying the other to back down. _

_"Men only have one thing on their mind, Tarrah…especially men who pursue women in the opera house." _

_She laughed; a clipped, comical sound that made Erik's temples hurt even more than they already did. _

_"You do not, what makes you think there are no other men that think like you?" _

_Lavanya sat on the couch listening to this heated exchange take place in the hallway. It seemed that neither one of them was aware of her presence, so she did not alert them to it. _

_"That is different, Tarrah, and you know it." _

_She made a sound that resembled a muffled scream and worked her fists into small, tightly knit balls. _

_"You are incorrigible!" _

_She threw her arms up in the air and paced in circles, stopping every few steps to wag her finger at him. _

_"How is it different…and if you say what I think you are going to say, I am going to box your ears!" _

_Erik dropped his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. He had no desire to continue this conversation; they were forging into incredibly delicate territory. _

_"You cannot say it, can you?" She stood, looking as intimidating and enforcing as Madam Giry on her best day, "Just because you are too darned cowardly to tell Lavanya you are in love with her does not mean that all of us have to hide in our shells and watch love pass us by." _

_His face fell and his heart followed. He could not believe she had said that aloud and he was certain that Lavanya had heard her. What would she do with the knowledge of his love? _

_He looked into the parlor, where he was certain Lavanya was reading; but when he saw her, it looked as though she was sleeping – it appeared he had been blessed. _

_It was when he turned his head and looked toward Lavanya that Tarrah felt the guilt of her words weigh heavily on her heart. _

_"I am sorry, Erik…" _

_He had turned away from her and headed toward his music room; wanting to get far away and escape reality. _

_"You are right, Tarrah…I am a coward…" he turned briefly, lending her a view of his masked profile, "…and I am not your father…do what you wish." _

_"Erik…" _

_She started to apologize, but he was already past the point of listening. _

**_END FLASHBACK _**

It had been four days…four long, grueling days since Lavanya had seen her husband. After the incident with Tarrah, he had presented her with a pair of beautifully carved crutches that would allow her to get around on her own.

She had thanked him profusely; but deep within her, she already missed him carrying her back and forth from place to place. His strong arms never failed to elicit strong images in her active mind; and his masculine scent of leather, expensive liquor, and spicy aftershave managed to give her body a gratifyingly sensual thrill.

That was four days ago. She had been walking quite well for the entire day, and was ready to move forward in her courtship with Erik. Irritatingly, he had not attempted _anything _with her…not even a kiss.

She had not had an opportunity to talk to him about Tarrah and the thoughts she had on what was going on in her life…and Tarrah had left the manor crying the night he had walked away from her.

He was hold up in the music room, finishing his next production. As far as she knew, he had not eaten in four days, and – from what Annette told her – had probably not slept much either.

Annette had come to check on her and to see how Erik was doing; it distressed her to find him locked away with his mistress of music and Lavanya growing more and more frustrated with him as each moment passed.

"He will come around, Lavanya; just keep making yourself available to him…" Annette advised, "…he and Tarrah may as well be blood related as alike as they are…she has hardly stopped crying and Phillip can do little to console her."

"I have had enough of this hiding he is doing…is this how he handles conflict?"

Annette heard the stubborn, non-compliant tone in her voice, and smiled knowingly; Erik had certainly met his match in this spirited young woman.

The days were growing warmer, or less cool – to be more accurate, and the flowers were beginning to bloom and the trees to blossom. Lavanya was forcing herself to walk on her ankle, despite the sharp pains that sometimes shot through it, and Annette walked beside her – enjoying the evening shades of the sinking sun play upon the canvas of the sky.

"There is a carnival in Paris that is quite notable and I think you would have a great deal of fun if you went…." Annette stated, "…my suggestion is to 'interrupt' his music session and sweep him away on an outing – just the two of you."

Lavanya had not considered such a thing; she had heard how he always stayed secluded when he worked and did not appreciate people barging in on him.

"I do not think he will mind if _you_ interrupt him, my dear…" Annette said with a wink, "…after all, you are his wife."

Lavanya was not convinced; by any stretch of the imagination.

"I hear that they even have a part of the carnival dedicated to India."

It sounded intriguing, if nothing else; and Lavanya was longing to get away from the manor with him and let all of Paris know that he was an attractive, virile, strong man who just happened to belong to her.

"That is a great idea, Madam Giry; a very great idea indeed."

♦♣♥♠

Irritable and disgusted with himself, Erik surged to his feet; sending the piano bench toppling to the floor. He knew he had not slept enough and his head was aching profusely…when was the last time he had eaten?

The main thing that he had hoped to accomplish by hiding away in his musical haven was to eradicate her image from his mind; but it had seemed to make it worse. She filled his senses – the silken whisper of her breath against his skin, the warm velvet of her voice whispering up the sensitive tendrils of his spine, and the honey sweetness of her lips against his – he was going mad.

She had been his wife for one week…he had managed to kiss her on their wedding day and then she had put restrictions on him – not that he would have initiated anything anyway – but his kiss must have been absolutely atrocious for her to have endured.

He was also mad at himself for provoking Tarrah…what had he been thinking? She was not his daughter….he had no right to bombard on her love life just because his was lacking; he just wanted her to be happy.

She probably hated him now.

The sun had finally gone down and the moon glowed eerily in the dark heavens with the stars flickering around it like candles lighting the way. Erik had once relished the night like an old friend; but now, it only reminded him of all that he could not have.

His thoughts turned once again to Lavanya. She was tolerating him and he thanked her for that; but for how long? He longed to taste her lips again and explore the softness of her dark chocolate hair through the virgin skin of his fingers; but how could he take such liberties when she had given him her boundaries.

His heart had yielded and he had no power or desire to fight it any longer. He had fought with everything in him to ward off the doomed fate of his love for her; but unlike anything he had ever felt for Christine – this had come in like a flood. It demolished every defense he had ever had and left a pile of ashes in its wake.

He moved over to the piano bench and sat it up straight, quickly making sure he had not rendered any damage to it in his anger. He sat down and tinkered with the keys, not making any distinct melody.

With all the life lessons he had known and the many physical and mental pains he had been through, Erik had thought himself wiser than this. He was little more than an animal – just as he had been taught since the age of six.

It was not an easy lesson to forget – not when it had been so skillfully taught.

And yet…she had him shamelessly wrapped around her finger and anything she asked he would do – without pause. Despite his head telling it that it was on a collision course with disaster, Erik's frayed, damaged, and betraying heart had abandoned all good sense and no longer belonged to him.

A lingering, albeit painfully honest, deluge of words invaded his mind; he could no more stop them from coming out of his mouth than he could stop breathing.

_"Never knew I could feel like this…  
like I've never seen the sky before.  
Want to vanish inside your kiss._

_Everyday I love you more... and more." _

What scared him more than anything was that he meant every word. He was more alive when Lavanya was near him, than he been his entire life. Everything about life that he had not experienced or never witnessed – he longed to discover with her by his side.

_"Listen to my heart…  
can you hear what it says?  
It's telling me to give you everything._

_Seasons may change…winter to spring.  
But, I love you until the end of time."_

Nothing would ever be the same again.

_"Come what may.  
Come what may.  
I will love you until my dying day_."

There was beauty in places he had never seen it…people were not the horrors that he had believed them to be for his entire life. He had laughed more, smiled more, hurt more, and longed more since she had entered his life…he was living – really living – for the first time.

_"Suddenly, the world seems such a perfect place.  
Suddenly, it moves with such a perfect grace.  
Suddenly, my life doesn't seem such a waste…  
It all revolves around you."_

If it did not last and never touched him again, Erik would never forget what it felt like truly to love someone with a love that surpassed understanding.

_"And there's no mountain too high…  
no river too wide;  
sing out this song and I'll be there by your side._

_Storm clouds may gather and stars may collide…  
But, I'll love you until the end of time."  
_  
He knew love now – sweet, torturous, all-consuming love…for what more did he have a right to ask?

_"Come what may.  
Come what may.  
I will love you until my dying day." _

**Come What May **

**Lyrics** **by: Baz Luhrmann & Craig Pearce, written by: David Baerwald**

"Erik…?"

His fingers sprang away from the keyboard and his head lurched sideways at the sound of her voice.

How long had she been there?

"Is that one of the songs from your new musical play…it is so beautiful?"

She moved closer to him and he dropped his eyes as she approached. She longed to tell him never to take his teal gaze from her; his eyes revealed so much about him that he was hesitant to reveal otherwise.

What should he say? It was not a new song for any of his works - it was the new song of his heart. She would not want to know that he sang it to her – that in a few short days she had become the most important person in his life.

"I may use it…I have only just begun to write it."

Lavanya smiled and shook her head disbelievingly.

"You just made the song up…" - silence with a gaping mouth – "…just now?"

Erik frowned amusingly and his eyes sparkled like diamonds in the shimmering moonlight – which dallied with the dancing flames of the candles.

"That is how they come to me…rather abruptly and sometimes they sneak into my dreams at night."

That was amazing to her…he _was_ a genius. Not that she had ever doubted it, but she had never seen him create before – never watched him work.

She moved closer still – her curvaceous hips swayed musically with each step – the moves were so pretentiously seductive that Erik was certain she knew that his body stiffened painfully in response to her nearness.

She slid onto the piano bench beside him, mindful of his strong thighs touching hers and of his beautiful hands resting just inches from her own thigh. She could not move her eyes from his hands…her thoughts lingering on what uninhibited song he would coax from _her_ lips if he stroked her body with his incomparably masculine hands as intricately and tenderly as he stroked the keys.

He had not seen her in four days…what a vision she was. Was it possible that she was even more breathtaking than she had been on their wedding day?

"How is your ankle?" he asked, gasping for the breath she robbed him of.

She nodded and took one of his hands in hers.

"It is much better, thank you."

She examined every centimeter of is hand, running her fingers over the heated flesh of each one and silently relishing the hitch in his breath upon each stroke.

"May I make a request…as your wife?"

Here it came – she wanted him to leave at worst; at best, she wanted to be just friends. He was not sure which one would hurt most…he knew that both would kill him.

However, the softness in her eyes belied the thoughts in his mind, and the lulling tenderness of her voice was doing strange things to his insides. He nodded his head, allowing her to ask whatever she wished.

"Do not cover your hands Erik…." She lifted her head again, looking into the dim, subdued lighting and catching his smoky, tantalizing gaze. "They are as beautiful as the music they create."

She turned his hand palm up and ran her finger along the ridges – making a warm shiver of delight shoot straight up his spine and heating his body to a painful arousal.

It was strange how two people could look at the same thing and see entirely different pictures; all he saw when he looked at his hands…was blood.

He swallowed deeply to ward off the savage longing to claim her lips in an all-consuming, all-revealing kiss.

"You look amazing, Anya…."

Where had that come from? He tried not to look shocked at his own statement; he could not believe he had said that aloud.

"It makes me feel good to know that you notice…does it please you….the way I look?"

His eyes narrowed, his brow creased, and his patrician nostrils flared; did she think that…did she believe that she was only there to please him?

Thrusting his tall frame off the bench and striding toward the large, full-length windows, Erik stood as still as a statue – looking very much like a dark, decadent angel who had been cast from the heavens for looking sinful and tempting.

"You are not here to please me, Anya – what a ghastly thought - no one should be forced to do such a …" He did not finish his statement; the look in Lavanya's eyes silenced him.

He was mocking himself again and Lavanya did not know whether to box his ears or kiss him senseless.

"…you are a beautiful, vibrant woman with dreams, and ambitions of your own…"

He heard her moving toward him, but did not turn, "…to be open and frank with you…."

She stood beside him now and he barely turned his head – giving her a priceless vision of his unmarred profile, "…you have given me more pleasure than anything or anyone in my entire life…"

He knew she looked aghast at his revelation, repulsed even…but she needed to know that she pleased him – since that seemed important to her.

This time, he turned toward her – fully resting his eyes upon her breathtaking features. "…it is not just the way you look – as you might think – but you are strong-minded…" he smirked and chuckled lightly, "…stingingly opinionated…"

He lifted his hand as though to caress the soft down of her cheek, but withdrew abruptly – fearing that she would recoil from him.

"…more alive than any woman I have ever seen."

She grasped the hand he had lifted toward her and held it to her cheek. She closed her eyes, reveling in the large, masculine feel of them; and he smelled like the perfect combination of danger and delight.

The tips of his fingers had calluses from years of playing the piano and violin – so she kissed each tip with maddening tenderness – leaving him, once again, powerless to catch his fleeting breath.

Her lips brushed the palm and Erik inadvertently drew in a hissing breath…the sensation he was experiencing was one of pure bliss.

She opened her eyes and smiled sweetly at him, dropping his hand to her side with their fingers still entwined.

"Erik, take me somewhere."

The request seemed rather odd, considering the intimate moment they were sharing, but Erik assumed she had had enough and could not help the disappointment that flooded his heart. He moved silently away from her and sat back down on the piano bench. He did not look at her but spoke into the clandestine candlelight.

"Take you somewhere…you are free to go wherever you wish…where would you like to go?"

"Annette mentioned a carnival that is in town - would you take me?"

Carnivals made him nauseous, but Erik wanted to please her. She knew nothing of his gypsy years and he did not have the heart to tell her that he had been a sideshow freak in a carnival when the gypsies had acquired him at the age of six. He looked over at her as she sat down beside him; he was facing the keyboard, she was facing the other direction; but she found it very easy to see him from this angle.

"I would prefer some place less rowdy and crowded…" he stated, "…do you like art?"

She lifted her shapely brow and smirked bemusedly.

"Paintings, sculptures, carvings….art?"

His teasing tone and sinful smirk made her giggle. He obviously had no idea how much his unintentional flirting was affecting her; she finally shook her head.

"Would you care for a tour of the Louvre Museum?"

She had not expected this and sat in stunned silence for few moments.

Erik did not understand her silence and took it to mean that the Museum would be a far better place to go if she were not going with him.

"If you would prefer not to go with me, I can arrange for Annette and Tarrah to go with…"

"No!" Lavanya exclaimed.

She could not see his face very well, for he had dropped his head as though in shame; but she was certain he had a very pained look on his face; as the pain was quite evident in his voice.

"Erik, I want to go with you…and no one else. I am sorry for my silence, but I did not expect to get the offer of accompanying you to such a place."

"Whyever not?" He asked, with surprise – his head turning slightly to regard her.

"My unusual coloring and strange clothing make people think I am either a courtesan or a stage performer."

Erik's low, rumbling chuckle warmed her heart, "Then what a pair we shall make – for I pass quite nicely as a freak show exhibit – in fact, I was one for some time when I was younger."

She heard the bitter edge that suddenly laced his words and she lifted her eyes to his. She could see enough of him in the passive lighting to know that he looked like temptation itself – an unmistakable invitation to partake of his promised passion – yielding would mean a lifetime of delight in his arms.

She saw the long fingers of his hand resting wantonly on his thigh and she grasped them tenderly, once again rubbing her thumb over the smooth surface of his sensitive flesh.

"Tell me, Erik…I need to know."

He stiffened at her insistence and she felt him try to remove his hand, but she held it firmly.

"There is nothing to tell… really…it was a long time ago."

She heard it, that small voice he tried to hide that wanted to know someone cared about what he had been through – what had made him who he was – and she was going to be everything he needed her to be.

"If it was so long ago, then why do you still wear the pain with such familiarity?"

He was silent; lodged between the need to tell her everything and the desire to keep his distance. He was certain that releasing his past to her would be his demise.

She sensed the war waging inside him and threw him a white flag.

"Take me to lunch tomorrow and then to the museum." She wrapped her arms around his neck and somehow ended up in his lap.

For his part, Erik was in stunned shock as her plump, exquisite backside nestled perfectly against his rapidly hardening flesh. She wriggled her lush bottom against his hips – knowing it was causing him a great deal more distress than it was her.

His eyes rolled back and closed involuntarily at the strange sensations she was creating in him. He could not keep from breathing in her scent – the irresistible womanly essence – the indefinable perfume of her sex that had been driving men wild with longing for centuries.

He was no exception.

"Where would you like to go to lunch?" He finally managed in a strained, broken tone that sounded husky and ridiculously sensual to his trained ears.

Her delicious lips lingered at the pulse point behind his ear; when she spoke, the erotic sensation vibrated through him like a lovers caress.

"Anywhere….as long as you are with me."

The illuminating candles cast a romantic glow on room and Lavanya found is so easy to give into her need of him. He was so close that their noses gently rubbed – flirting with the spark of desire that danced between them.

There would be no barriers tonight – no pain – just a man and wife finally tasting the fruits of their union. Although her body cried out for it, and she could feel the evidence of his need against the softness of her bottom, Lavanya would not yield it all to him…not tonight…but he needed to know she desired him above all others.

Erik felt the air shift around them – the spark of something unknown to him, but undeniably sensual.

He had no idea of her intentions until her sweet mouth found the sloped column of his throat and feather soft kisses floated across his skin. His quiet sigh of disbelief melted into a low groan of illicit desire.

"Anya…"

She slowly lifted her head and placed a quieting finger to his full lips.

"Shhhh…I want this, Erik…I want to taste you and feel you…just kissing and touching…." _for now, _she added in thought.

His deep swallow and dusky eyes indicated his desire to continue.

"Let us find a more comfortable place to engage in such things."

He effortlessly lifted her into his arms and carried her to the soft, plush couch that had apparently doubled as his bed for the past four days. He strode over the large Italian marble fireplace and stroked the dying embers of the fire until it sparked to life again, crackling and hissing its disapproval at being awakened.

He sat back down next to her and she slid into his lap again, loving how she fit perfectly against the hard, hungry plane of his body.

Before she could continue her sensual exploration, Erik needed to know if this was for her pleasure or if she was only doing this because she knew he wanted it.

"What is this, Anya…do you truly desire me – or are you just giving me what you know I want?"

Her lopsided smirk was the most desirous thing she could have done, for Erik's body jolted to life again.

"I already answered that question, Erik…I want this…." She shook her head and then looked at him determinedly, "…no – change that…I need this."

She turned in his lap, straddling his hips to face him – her heated center almost caressing his swollen staff – but remaining teasingly unattainable.

He wore no mask, so she pressed her cheek against his marred flesh – softly caressing the scars with a loving sweep of her flesh against his. She placed tiny, moist kisses upon his cheek and then moved to his ear – circling it with her tongue.

His hands somehow found the curve of her waist and he pulled her hips closer to his bold erection; wanting to feel the pressure of her against him; his head lulled back against the couch and his eyes drifted shut as he spoke.

"I will gladly yield whatever you want, Anya…" he groaned, "…I will not demand anything else…" his eyes touched hers in a seducing grip that left her panting for relief, "…just let me taste you."

The agonizing honesty of his words pierced her heart, and tears pooled in the corners of her eyes – he thought she would get him poised and ready with her teasing kisses and then not allow him anything more.

What could she say with her voice that she could not say with her lips? He was hers for the taking; beneath her searching hands and hungry mouth, he would find a solace; she would see to that.

She removed the material of her sari - exposing the form fitting Choli, which covered her front but left her back bare for his touch. The loose skirt she wore draped over his hips – covering them both in the canopy of the material.

Erik had never seen a woman actually undress in any way…and to watch her expose the swell of her breasts and the slight plumpness of her soft belly was like a dream from which he had no desire to awaken.

Once she was comfortable, she settled atop him and ran her hands through the raven tresses that she had longed to tease for days.

"You have wonderful hair, Erik…soft and thick…."

"…and - if I recall correctly - still needing to be trimmed." He pointed out, with a sensual smirk.

Her fingers threaded through it and his eyes drifted shut once more. No one had ever touched him in this way – no one; no one had ever said he had a "wonderful" anything.

She leaned into him and feathered her tongue across the sculpted curve of his jaw – feeling him jerk with anxious surprise.

She smiled seductively into his dark eyes…wondering what the unreadable shadow lingering in their smoky depths meant.

His eyes drifted shut and moan sounded deep in his throat as she teased the sensitive flesh at the base of his throat…she felt his pulse as it raced with desire. Her lips caressed it, and then she moved upwards toward his mouth.

She lined his full, firm lower lip with warm, gentle kisses and smiled when his mouth opened slightly in an attempt to catch his breath – giving her easier access.

His breathing had deepened and his hands rested gently on her legs. Unbeknownst to him, his masculine thumbs were weaving seductive circles on the perceptive flesh of her thighs; and she moaned into his mouth as she continued to ravage it.

Her agile fingers unbuttoned the buttons on his crisp, white, ruffled shirt and moved it over his shoulders with intentional ease. His eyes were open now and he watched her every move beneath the veiling shadow of his long lashes.

Ever since Tarrah had made the remark about his chest, Lavanya had thought of little else…she wanted his naked flesh beneath her hands.

As she pushed it from his broad shoulders, she lowered her mouth to his, never taking her eyes from his enticing lips. She brushed her lips over his, stroking back and forth over their softness.

Almost without detection, his hands crept up the soft flesh of her back, relishing in the way it melted against him. Her mouth was a forbidden treasure he had been denied for all of his adolescent and adult years.

She tasted like every erotic thought he had ever had and every fantasy he had ever conjured up; fire and ice, hard and soft, light and dark.

Before he could wonder why she moaned contentedly while she kissed him, she touched her tongue to his lip; sending his eyes fluttering open to see if she had intended to do such a thing.

She lifted slightly, still touching her lips to his, but smiling seductively into his eyes. She repeated the action, and when he answered with a slight opening, she took possession of him in the most pleasant of ways.

She ravished his mouth – plunging and stroking him to a fevered frenzy. She could feel him straining beneath her heated core and she writhed against the throbbing ridge of his growing arousal.

Erik followed his primal instincts and claimed the plump curve of her rump with hand while raking a hand through the dark tresses of her long, luscious waves; drawing her into his novice kiss with gentle force and tangling his warm, talented tongue with hers in a dance as old as music.

Her fascination with his chest baffled him, but he moaned into her plunging mouth as she ran her hands over his hardened peaks; bringing a hiss to his swollen lips.

She replaced her hands with her mouth and Erik's head shot upward and his eyes locked with hers. She was circling the peaks of his manly chest with her sweet, little tongue, and Erik had never felt anything so exquisite.

His hips ground against her; a rhythm he knew belonged within him, but one he had fought to subside all these years.

She felt him beneath her – strong and vigorous – his body delightfully ready for whatever she desired of him. She could not resist a smile when his fingers slid through her hair and lodged behind her head, pushing her hungry mouth further against his fevered flesh.

"I love the way you are built…my husband…strong…" she swept her tongue across his erect nipple – and he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth, "…masculine…" she copied that action on the other side – and he blew it out slowly, "…beautiful."

With the last word, she was just a breath from his lips and sighed his name, "Erik…" then, she tenderly possessed his delicious mouth – sweeping her lips across his with such a loving gentleness that he would have thought he was dreaming if she had not moaned in her own pleasure.

Erik deepened the kiss this time, surrendering himself under the demanding pressure of her mouth and allowing her searching tongue to sweep past his lips. His hands moved from the soft sway of her lower back, up her sides and rested at the juncture beneath her throbbing breasts.

She longed – no, she yearned – for his large, gentle hands to cup her fullness and learn the secrets of her body; however, he remained maddeningly close, with his thumbs grazing across the underside, but not quite touching.

She was undone by the possessive urgency of his overwhelming kisses; her thighs trembled in anticipation of his imminent claim to the hidden treasure resting at their juncture; her whole body was aflame – a sensation as new to her as it was to him.

Lavanya yearned for him – for what his body could give her…but she would not rush it. He was learning how to take pleasure from her mouth and body - to ask for it with his own insistent needs – ignoring what he considered his own unworthiness.

She was lost in him…he had claimed her mouth – claimed her…and with this newfound passion and the power he held over her, he could have taken everything from her and she would have been powerless to stop him.

Long before she wanted him to, he pulled back and she noticed a lambent glow had settled in his eyes. He lifted his hand and gently caressed her full, kiss-swollen, bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

"I am going to rest in the thought that you derived as much pleasure from this as I did…" his luminous gaze finally moved from her lips to her eyes, "…if it is otherwise, I do not wish to know at this time."

He winked at her and moved her off his lap. He stood and moved past her in a swift manner, hoping she did not notice the outline of his erection through the material of his pants.

"Erik…I want you to talk to Tarrah…she is in love and needs you to be there for her."

Erik did not respond at first, but she could tell he had heard her.

"She is only eighteen…is she certain it is love?" He pleadingly asked, hoping to hear what he wanted to hear.

"Talk to her…"

He chuckled, smirked, and dropped his head in defeat; promising he would do so.

"Let me show you to your bedroom, Madam Lacroix." He bowed.

She took his hand and held it, long after he would have thought she would have released it. He quietly led her to her room and opened the door to let her enter. Feeling bold and more confident, Erik bent his head and kissed her; with a slight sweep of his tongue across her very eager lips.

He moved slightly back, but she could still feel his warm breath upon her cheek when he spoke.

"Tomorrow – lunch and The Louvre – we will leave at 12:30 pm – do not forget."

She smiled and lifted her hand to caress his bottom lip, "I do not think I could forget…even if I wanted to."

He nodded, turned, and went toward his own room; oblivious to the lustful stare she was giving his backside. 

TBC


	33. Chapter 33 The Coward's Way

These next couple of chapters are very dark, I must apologize. Erik's world suffers a damaging blow - but he finally has people to help him through it. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 33

Of course, when it comes to plans…things do not always go as everyone expects them to. The day started out wonderfully; the air was fresh and smelled very sweet. Lavanya arose early and decided she was going to take an early morning ride.

Sumukhi, her four-year-old filly, had arrived a couple of days ago, and the moment Lavanya saw her, it was love at first sight. Pure white with black eyes and muzzle, she was as light and whimsical as D'Ombre was dark and sinful.

This was going to be a tremendous day for Lavanya; she was going to get Erik out in public. She would encourage him to act on any instinct that he had when it came to showing affection toward her – especially in public – and let all of Paris know that she was proud to be his wife, and that he was a desirable and dynamic man.

The thought made her smile; she almost skipped the entire path to the corral and stables, and would have had she not looked up and witnessed a mating dance between D'Ombre and Sumukhi.

She gasped and threw her hand over her mouth in shock. Lavanya ran back to the house as fast as she could, bounded up the stairs, and flew through Erik's bedroom door.

He was not immediately visible, and so she followed the low, rumbling sound of his humming. She went to the water closet, threw open the door and stared in pleased wonder at his almost nude form hidden only by a luxurious white towel which hung perilously over his lean, powerful hips.

Erik, unaware of his attractiveness, stared in disbelief at the image of his wife staring at him; and him in a state of near nudity.

He glanced at his watch, which hung over the hook on the wall, and noticed that it was nowhere close to being time to leave – and if she was planning on wearing that outfit she had on, he may not make it through the day without breaking every vow he had made to himself.

She was breathing heavily from her romp from the stables to the house and up the stairs, and he could see that there was a panicked look in her eyes.

"Anya…what is it…you look as though you have seen a ghost?"

She put her hands on her knees and leaned over to catch her breath before finally straightening up and speaking.

"Your stud of a horse has found my Sumukhi and he has had his way with her."

"Excuse me?" He asked in a dark tone – mixed amusingly with mirth.

She pointed her finger – not caring that it pointed in the opposite direction from the stables - to emphasize her point.

"D'Ombre violated Sumukhi!"

She was almost in tears as she spoke and Erik noticed her distress.

He pulled her trembling form to him and encased her in his warm, heavenly smelling arms. She curled against him, amazed at how soft the spattering of dark hairs were that covered just the perfect amount of his sculptured chest.

"He did not violate her…dear one…it is natural; although I had not considered this happening…at least not so soon."

Erik chuckled softly, calming her frazzled nerves with his easy acceptance of the situation. He moved his large hand over the smooth surface of her hair, releasing its fragrant sweetness into the air.

"Come, we will go check on them."

He dressed quickly, but she marveled at the artful elegance in each move of his graceful form. He slipped into his large closet and came out a few moments later wearing a ruffled shirt that he was still tucking into a pair of ivory trousers that hugged his strong hips and tapered down over a pair of black leather Wellington's polished to a shimmering glaze.

In a word…he was breathtaking. Images of the night before, as well as the feel of his mouth against hers and his hands evoking shivers of pleasure through her, succeeded in riling her passions again…but there were urgent things to tend to.

In less than five minutes, they walked out of his room and made their way toward the stables.

"This could have been going on for some time, now…I have not been paying much attention…" Erik admitted, "…he has never mated before…" Lavanya lifted a brow and smirked at him, "…and you must admit….Sumukhi is a pretty little thing."

"He has never mated?" Lavanya finally asked.

Erik shook his head and smiled sadly, "No…my fate was to be his fate…I suppose it is too late for that."

She would certainly address that issue later, but Sumukhi was her priority at the moment.

D'Ombre had dismounted and was circling the corral in a lazy gallop. Sumukhi was nonchalantly ignoring him, drinking water from the trough.

"She seems rather bored at this point." Lavanya observed.

Erik climbed over the fence and approached D'Ombre slowly, noticing that the stallion was prancing proudly around the circumference of the fenced area. He seemed agitated – more so than usual…and even Erik's calming voice was not working.

"Hello, you frisky devil…" Erik cooed as the pitch black, Arabian stallion eyed him suspiciously. "…I am not here to take her from you…"

D'Ombre, normally even-tempered and tolerant of Erik's presence, was snorting and kicking up the sod with erratic steps and prancing.

"I think the lady is recuperating right now, my impatient friend…." Erik looked over at Sumukhi and chucked again, "…you certainly do have an eye for the ladies, you stud."

At that, D'Ombre whinnied loudly and rolled his upper lip back in a grin. Erik tentatively reached his hand out to nuzzle his nose and was finally able to embrace the neck of his dearest and most faithful friend.

Erik whispered against D'Ombre's flicking ear, "I am glad one of us is able to make a female happy."

He walked back over to Lavanya and crawled over the fence. They stood there quietly, watching the two Arabian horses completely ignore each other; but D'Ombre once again started his agitated behavior.

"She certainly has him in an uproar." Erik commented with a chuckle.

"Is this behavior normal?" Lavanya asked.

Erik shrugged his shoulders and dropped his head.

"I have no idea…this whole process is as new to me as it is to him."

They watched the horses for a little longer and started back toward the house…Erik could not understand D'Ombre's unusual behavior, but decided it was most likely due to his newfound manhood – or stallionhood – as the case may be.

It was ten-thirty in the morning before they made their way back toward the manor.

"How long have you and D'Ombre been best friends?" Lavanya asked, smiling just a little bit.

Erik shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

"I found him – or rather – he found me when he was just a colt. That was ten years ago…when I returned to Paris."

He walked with his hands locked behind his back and his sharp eyes watching the hills around them; something did not feel right.

"He has never judged me nor renounced me in any way, he is always there when I need him and he never talks back…" He glanced at her and his lips quirked in a smirk.

"But he does join you on stirring choruses of Irish drinking songs, singing sharply when you are inebriated…at least that is the story I hear."

She spoke in jest and Erik could feel his skin slightly blush as he remembered their teasing from a few days ago; it felt good to have someone whose sense of humor seemed to match his own. She was witty and smart, and Erik loved to hear her laugh. He had watched her work with Sumukhi as soon as the pony arrived; her knowledge of horses was limited, but she had read several articles and a couple of small books that Erik had provided and she soaked up the knowledge.

They entered through the front door and were confronted by Mr. Tibbs' stern countenance.

"Neither one of you ate any breakfast; it is now being served on the garden portico."

Erik and Lavanya shared "the look" and proceeded to follow Mr. Tibbs to the porch. Erik addressed the aged man as he sat down.

"I seldom eat around others…"

Mr. Tibbs smiled imperceptibly, and there was a twinkle in his warm eyes.

"I know, master, but it is high time you started. You have a beautiful wife that enjoys your company and she has expressed her disappointment in your absence over the past several days."

Erik looked at Lavanya and she only smiled; a slightly coy smile, but a smile nonetheless. Did she really enjoy his company – his drab, unremarkable company?

"Is this true?" Erik asked.

Lavanya shrugged her shoulders and piddled with the food on her plate.

"I may have mumbled rather loudly..." she stated, absently.

Erik smirked at that, and noticed that she lifted her eyes and gave him a lop-sided smile.

"I am sorry, Anya…no one has ever shown an interest in my company…" he lifted a brow and chuckled at the same time, "…the exact opposite actually." He admitted.

He suddenly pulled his watch from his pocket and glanced at it, a frown forming on his features.

"We are going to be late for our lunch and Louvre excursion."

Lavanya smiled and sighed.

"We can postpone for another day..."

Much to his credit, Erik actually managed to look disappointed. She leaned toward him and continued.

"…however, do not think that you are going to get away that easily…I need to go into town for a specific item that should be ready by now."

Although his curiosity was piqued, Erik did not ask. He headed toward the stairs and turned toward her at the third one to speak to her.

"I will be ready in a few minutes."

He instructed Mr. Tibbs to have the carriage brought around and trotted up the stairs, anticipating an afternoon in her company.

True to his word, Erik emerged a few minutes later, having exchanged his knee-length Wellington's for more fashionable ankle boots. He had also put on a silk waistcoat.

She gave him an approving look and then smiled. He offered his arm and they walked to the carriage together. Erik helped her into the carriage and took the seat directly across from her. He still was not certain how much of his company she was willing to tolerate, but she had asked him to take her in to town; and he desperately wanted to be with her.

"I think that we should stop by the Populaire and surprise Tarrah for lunch, she would enjoy that." Erik offered. "It would also give me a chance to apologize and hear her side of the story."

Lavanya was pleased with that idea and smiled brightly.

"I miss her; I have not seen her since you two had words."

Erik suddenly seemed to be lost in thought and did not respond to her; Lavanya stared at his masked profile, he suddenly seemed concerned and acutely disturbed about something.

"Erik?"

He still did not hear her.

"Erik!"

He heard her that time and jolted from his comatose stare.

"Where were you just now…you seemed far away?"

His eyes were deeply troubled and a shiver of dread washed over him…but he had no idea why.

"What is it, Erik…what is wrong?"

He spoke, but he seemed to be looking on the whole scene from a different realm of reality…there was a disturbance within him that left him feeling eerily uneasy.

"I do not know…" he shook his head and frowned, "…I just feel as though something is terribly wrong."

The look on his face made her blood run cold and she began to feel the prickly feeling of an imposing darkness sweep down on her.

Erik could see that she was as disturbed as he was and opened the window to the front of the carriage to instruct the driver to take them back home. They had only been gone twenty minutes, and it would take another twenty minutes to get home.

Neither of them doubted that there was something wrong – but neither of them could determine what it could be. Erik went over everything in his mind; every detail replaying back to him with astounding accuracy.

D'Ombre's skittish behavior and uncompromising stubbornness; the unwavering and disconcerting feeling that he was being watched – which was not a totally unfamiliar feeling – and the strange heaviness in the air…everything was beginning to make sense…

"I am sure it is nothing but my over active imagination, Anya; please do not look so worried."

She had curled up on the edge of the seat, pushing against the frame of the carriage as though needing it for life support.

His words brought her no comfort, because he did not sound convincing. He did not believe the words he was saying – why should she?

"I will feel better when we get home and find out for certain."

Erik agreed, with a deep, throaty sound that came out like a grunt.

Lavanya wanted nothing more than to ease into his lap, put her face against his strong chest, and feel his heart beating relentlessly against her cheek; but she stayed in her seat and settled for watching him brood two feet from her - but in reality – he was much further away.

They passed the edge of their property and Erik sat up straighter, watching the edge of the row of trees with an eagle eye. There was something out there; he could feel it with an intensity that had been beat into him years ago.

He looked at Lavanya and felt the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms – there was a threat present – he did not know who or what – but it was out there; and she was the most important person in his life. He would die protecting her if need be.

The carriage halted and Erik jumped out - motioning for Lavanya to stay inside. He circled the carriage, surveying the outer limits of the manor and the immediate grounds as thoroughly as a military regiment scouting the area for the enemy.

There was a strange scent on the air, one he did not recognize, and another that held a hint of familiarity – although he could not place it. However, whoever they had been, they were gone now.

He went back to the carriage and opened the door to assist Lavanya in getting out. He held her hand tightly and then circled her waist with his arm, bringing her flush against him – but his mind did not steer in a lustful direction – he was concentrating on keeping her safe.

"Whoever it was is gone, but I know they were here…" He whispered into her ear, "…stay beside me and do not venture away…" he tilted her chin up with the soft pad of his finger, "…I know you can handle yourself in a threatening situation - but I am begging you to do as I ask." He placed a tender kiss upon her lips, and his eyes pleaded with such tenderness, "I would die before allowing anything to happen to you."

His words bolted straight through her, lodging firmly in her heart; and in that moment, she knew he loved her with such ferocity that it terrified him – and he intended to hold the secret within him…thinking his love was not wanted.

She started to tell him that she felt the same way about loosing him, but he had taken control of the situation and was moving toward the door. Erik was holding her firmly to his side as he slung the door open and pushed Lavanya behind him, ensuring that should there be anyone on the other side bent on doing harm – the harm would fall on him.

At first, all seemed as it should have been, but then Erik's sensitive ears picked up on a low, muffled sound that sounded like a person in pain, distress, or both.

"Erik…" Lavanya also heard the sound; and her voice trembled with emotion and fear.

The thick, coppery smell of blood permeated his nostrils and he felt like regurgitating from the pungent odor.

Following the smell into the parlor, Erik entered the room and looked around; before he could stop her, Lavanya rushed past him, and did the same.

He heard the noise again, and pulling Lavanya along beside him, he moved toward the large storage closet attached to the room. Before touching the handle to open the door, Erik noticed the bloody handprint that coated it.

He dreaded opening the door, the horrors that he was certain awaited him were already shouldering their way into his mind. He tentatively lifted the handle and the door inched open.

Erik's body was alive with an adrenalin rush that made him even more dangerous than usual; and he was ready for whatever was behind the door.

Or, so he thought.

Mr. Tibbs, Mitzi, and Mrs. McGhee were stripped, bound, gagged, and blindfolded. They sat on the floor – back to back – and their wrists had been slit.

Erik released Lavanya and immediately cut the ropes that bound them. He laid them all down, removed his shirt, and began tearing it in strips; he turned to Lavanya – and noticed she was as white a sheet, but she was coherent.

"Anya – I need you to heat three poker irons at the fire place – immediately…"

When she did not respond, he gripped her shoulder with on hand, lifted her chin with the other, and stared deeply into her eyes, "Sweetheart…they will die if we do not stop the bleeding."

She heard that and immediately did as he asked. Erik began cutting off blood supply by binding their arms; that done, he ran to the nearest linen closet and grabbed blankets to cover them.

Lavanya had entered the room a few minutes earlier and the pokers were heating in the fire.

Erik knew it had been long enough.

"Bring me one, Anya."

She did, and Erik used it to touch Mrs. McGhee's wrist. She screamed from the pain, but Erik was just thankful she had not sunk into a black abyss between death and life.

Next, he did Mitzi and then Mr. Tibbs – whom they almost lost; if it hadn't been for Erik's medical knowledge, they would have lost him.

He laid them all down in the quest rooms. All he could offer them for pain was alcohol and he made them as comfortable as possible.

Before Mr. Tibbs closed his eyes to blessed sleep, he whispered a name that made Erik's heart stop and the color drain from him.

"D'Ombre."

TBC


	34. Chapter 34 A Time to Cry

I am sorry...please understand and forgive. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 34

_D'Ombre. _

Ice-cold dread poured down his spine and Erik swallowed the sudden deluge of bile that filled his throat. His whispered instructions sent a chill through Lavanya; she had never heard him sound so despondent.

"Tend to them, Anya – bring them plenty of food and drink – make them eat…" his voice was stern and his eyes issued a warning as his voice did the same, "…do not follow me."

His terror-filled eyes pleaded with her and he scanned her panicked features before abruptly thrusting himself from the room and running for the front door.

She watched him quickly disappear, fighting every urge to follow him, and focused on her patients.

Thankfully, they had not been bleeding for very long, which led Lavanya to believe that whoever had done this was either interrupted by their speedy and unexpected return – or had just finished and left as they were returning.

She set about to do as he had instructed, trying to keep her mind off whatever Erik had found; but she could not help but feel waves of anxiety and trepidation invade her normally calm nerves.

Meanwhile, Erik ran full speed toward the corral, noticing that Sumukhi was running full speed around the corral – spooked and terrorized. He used every skill he knew about horses and finally managed to calm her down…but her agitated mannerisms only proved to Erik that there was still a threat in the area.

He could feel eyes on him – watching…calculating…planning – he scanned the nearby tree-line for any sign of unusual activity, but he neither saw nor heard anything out of the ordinary.

He cooed into Sumukhi's ear and soothed her racing heart with his low, steady voice.

"Good girl…shhhhh…." Erik rubbed her strong shoulders and looked her straight in the eye, letting her know that he would do everything he could to make things right.

She talked back to him with a soft, nervous whinny and Erik knew she understood.

"Where is he, Sumukhi….what have they done with him?"

She softly answered him, and Erik looked to the enclosed stables with a heavy heart; fear – stronger and deeper than any he had ever known – gripped him; but he made his way toward the place that he had designed and decorated with D'Ombre in mind.

For more than ten years, he had been by his side – through the horrors of Paris, the loss of Christine, and his descent into darkness. Recently, they had shared some of the best times of their lives…together….

…and Erik knew in his heart, that he was gone.

♠♣♦♥

Lavanya had made a quick broth and made each traumatized victim eat a cup full and drink some water. Their physical recovery would be quick – however, their mental recovery might not be so easy to repair.

It had been thirty-five minutes since Erik headed for the stables; she had heard nothing. She feared for the horses…but most of all, she feared for Erik.

She had instructed Lawrence, the carriage driver, to head into town as fast as he could, get a doctor, and notify Tarrah at the opera house.

♠♣♦♥

"Mistress Tarrah, you must come quickly…something has happened at the manor."

Lawrence came sweeping through the back doors of the opera house and did not care that he was interrupting a rehearsal; he was doing what he had been told.

She looked up with her hand over her eyes block the light.

" Lawrence?"

He ran toward her with a stricken look in his eyes.

"What are you talking about?"

She was already gathering her skirts to leave with him when Madam Giry appeared at her side.

"What has happened?"

Lawrence looked from Tarrah to Annette and quickly summarized.

Both women stood in horrified amazement at what the young man was saying.

"I will go with you…I may be needed." Annette rushed off to gather her things while Phillip overheard what had happened.

He placed himself at her side, hugging her trembling form and trying to calm her turbulent nerves.

"Do you wish me to go with you?"

She shook her head and caressed his cheek, "No, now is not the time."

He understood and stood helplessly by as she and Annette quickly gathered their things and were in the carriage in a few minutes, headed toward the manor.

"Who could have done such a horrible thing?"

Annette watched the young woman mull over the events in her mind and the images were horrible.

"I do not know, Tarrah, but if anyone can get to the bottom of it, Erik can."

♣♦♥♠

Tarrah and Annette were stepping down from their carriage, when the de Chagny carriage rolled to an abrupt halt in front of the marble steps of Lacroix Manor.

"Phillip informed us that something had happened….we do not live far from here…how can we help?"

Raoul swept into the house as he spoke, after helping Christine down out of the carriage. He had surveyed the area around the manor as he arrived and did the same to the inside of the vast estate as he stood before a very distraught Lavanya.

"Where is Erik?" He asked quietly, not wanting to rattle her any more than she already was.

"He went to the stables, Raoul…something is terribly wrong." Lavanya answered with a quiet dread. "He has been out there for almost an hour."

"Stay here." He instructed the women.

Raoul made his way quickly toward the stables, wondering what Erik's reaction would be to seeing him. They were not friends, by any means…but Raoul found himself admiring the older man for – not only his incredible talents and intelligence – but also for his inner strength and drive. A lesser man would have withered away under the type of life that Erik had been forced to lead.

The air was eerily still and thick with the smell of blood. Raoul's heart began to beat frantically, anticipating the worst…finding Erik lying in a pool of blood.

However, as he approached the dusky inside of the stables, Raoul was struck by the sight of Erik sitting on the ground with D'Ombre's head in his lap. He caressed and soothed the bloodied hair beneath his hands, and quietly rocked back and forth.

There was a force, strong and foreboding, that Raoul felt closing in on him. Although Erik appeared calm and subdued, Raoul could see the erratic movement of his eyes and the deep, seething jaggedness of each breath.

Raoul was not even sure the man knew he was there…until his haunting voice filled the stables much as it had the opera house years ago…and Raoul stopped in his tracks.

"You do not want to be here, boy..." Erik spat, "…take your wife and go home."

Ignoring the biting, warning tone in Erik's words, Raoul found his bearings and warily approached the scene. He no longer feared this man…he had proven himself in many ways and he was worthy of the respect Raoul had developed for him. He knelt down beside Erik who did not acknowledge him at first.

There were deep gashes covering the torso - gaping and torn; and D'Ombre's strong back legs had been cut - increasing the blood flow.

"He was alive when I got here...he died in my arms."

The brutal scene had a strange peace about it as Raoul observed a man, who had rendered such fear and mistrust in the hearts of many people for years, gently sooth the bloodied, mutilated corpse of his closest friend.

Gently removing himself from underneath D'Ombre's head, Erik abruptly stood, causing Raoul to do the same. The two faced each other with equal stubbornness, and Raoul could see an incensed, boiling hatred burning in Erik's eyes.

"I can help you find them…I have endless resources."

Erik's calm demeanor did little to convey the collage of emotions that was bombarding him; the last thing he needed was a confrontation. Oddly, Erik felt no animosity toward Raoul – he felt nothing at all – he was hollow inside.

"I do not need your help…this is my fight."

Erik's hostile whisper was followed by his elegantly determined pace. Every cell in his body was throbbing with the need for revenge.

"I will find them and I will kill them." Erik whispered on the wind.

The promise in the words was haunting and Raoul felt the cold chill of dread climb up his spine.

"This was just a warning…the few people in my life that I care about are at risk…and I will kill _myself_ before allowing anything to happen to any of them."

Raoul had the distinct impression that Erik was not talking to him – he had probably forgotten he was even there.

"Erik…"

The despondent man moved his eyes to look at Raoul – the rest of him remained still and hard as granite.

"Get out!" Erik ground out, with a menacingly cold tone.

The logical side of Raoul knew that he was pressing where few dared to press, but he was not going to back down from this man, no matter what.

"Erik, let me take care of him…Lavanya needs to know that you are not injured in any way."

Every word that proceeded from Raoul's perfect mouth just seemed to wedge itself into Erik's already overly sensitized nerves.

Every part of him was livid and advanced on the smaller man without mercy. Raoul stood his ground, even though he was not certain of Erik's intent.

"For the greater part of my life, I have had to pay homage to men like you – perfect faces, perfect bodies, perfect lives – I have watched as women throw themselves at you and you toy with them like dolls…."

Erik could not be stopped. His tall, outraged form towered over Raoul – slinging words that were meant to isolate and wound – but Raoul knew the depth of Erik's pain and the atrocities of his life…he would get through to this man…somehow.

"…this heinous act was committed by men like you…never happy with what they have – always seeking the treasured possessions of other men they consider beneath them…."

"Do you think this of me?" Raoul asked quietly, but with equal fervor.

Erik retracted a slight bit and looked down his long, patrician nose to stare solicitously into Raoul's seeking eyes.

"Are you any different?"

They stood boldly before each other; Erik breathing heavily with the grief that poured through him like molten lava and Raoul wanting him desperately to see that they did not have to be enemies.

"Are you going to stand there and tell me that a creature like me deserves a life like what you enjoy…" Erik's voice softened, but Raoul still heard the intolerance seeping through, "…a beautiful wife on my arm and in my bed, a child to carry on my legacy, a place in society…"

Raoul frowned at the implication that Erik felt unworthy of such things. There was no doubt that he was lashing out – redirecting the grief that had undoubtedly seized his heart.

"You have the beautiful wife on your arm and in your bed and you are one of the most sought after composers and playwrights in Europe…a child will come in time."

Erik recoiled from Raoul as though he burned and stalked away from the young aristocrat with long, hasty steps.

"You honestly think that beautiful woman would share my bed…" Erik laughed; darkly and without an ounce of humor, "…we have barely touched…" Erik spat, "…a blessing in her eyes, I am sure – oh…she tolerates my sloppy, novice kisses, but nothing else."

He made his way back over to D'Ombre and knelt down by his side; his words were even and cool, but Raoul heard the underlying agony.

"You find this amusingly justified, I am sure..." Erik's menacingly shrewd eyes bore into Raoul's inquiring ones. "...I am getting what I deserve..."

Erik's fists tightened and he screamed in rage...and then his eyes focused on D'Ombre's still form.

"...NO CREATURE SHOULD HAVE TO ENDURE SUCH TREATMENT!!" He fell to the ground once more; his hand atop his horses head. He spoke, but did not look at Raoul. "Lavanya could be next..." he stood up, breathing heavily and dangerously poised for battle, "...I will die before they lay one finger on her..."

Raoul heard it; the deep conviction in Erik's voice and strong, protective urgency in his demeanor.

"You love her…" Raoul finally realized – speaking what he knew to be the truth.

"I can no longer deny that fact…but what I want has never mattered..." Erik murmured, then his hand rested upon D'Ombre's still chest, "…this is what happens to the things that I love…I destroy them – one way or another." His head dropped in complete surrender to the collage of emotions that choked him. "To wish for her love is a dream - a fanciful fairytale where I turn into a handsome prince…" he closed his eyes and a grievous shudder ran through him, "…I will not allow her to be destroyed by my darkness."

Erik was trembling - from head to foot - and he felt an overwhelming urge to suddenly hurt someone.

"They will pay...somehow - someway - they will pay."

The last three words made Raoul frown and a he was determined to get through Erik's thick, stubborn skull in some way.

"You are not going to go after them…it would be suicide."

Erik heard the warning words, but they sounded like a jumbled mess to his ears. How much pain and loss could a person stand in a lifetime? Was there a limit? Had he reached his? Was he destined to live out the rest of his miserable life with no passion for the things that had once been so dear to him? What burned where the fire had once been?

This was his chance – his moment in time. He would ensure the safety of those he loved and maybe – finally – find peace; for he did love, stronger and more passionately than most.

"The wounds were inflicted by a whip laced with metal shards – or pieces of bone. The whip was wielded with skill and precision and I know only one man who could have done it."

Raoul stooped down beside Erik and looked at the wounds covering D'Ombre's black, shiny coat.

Erik met his gaze and was strangely thankful for the boys company.

"Surely you do not mean Pieter…he died in the hospital fire months ago."

Erik's empty eyes barely looked coherent as he lifted them slowly to Raoul's handsome, concerned features.

"I know that the body they found was unrecognizable and could have belonged to anyone." Erik said - his voice quiet and thoughtful.

"Nobody even attempted to research it…there was no need." Raoul stated, beginning to wonder about Erik's theory.

"There are two distinct sets of shoe prints on my property…one man – Pieter – attacked and brutally maimed D'Ombre and the other took the staff out of the picture. He – whoever he is – would have probably killed them if Lavanya and I had not returned home." Erik furrowed his brow and thought back to the moment he stepped into the manor after returning, "There was still someone in this house when we stepped through the door…I could feel them."

Erik turned from Raoul and began gathering the things needed to bury D'Ombre. He felt the heaviness in his heart feed through his entire being and threaten to rip him of his desire to go on.

"I wish to bury him beneath the poplar tree in the back of the property; then I wish to be alone."

"Let me help you." Raoul insisted.

Erik shook his head, "I will do it." His eyes dropped as soon as he said it, and he knew he did not wish to do it alone; but that was the way things had always been.

Raoul reached out and grasped Erik by the forearm as he reached for the shovel and started to leave.

"Erik, you cannot do this alone."

Erik furrowed his brow in confusion and resigned dismay, "Alone is what I am, Vicomte…I have never been anything but alone."

Raoul refused to back down – even upon hearing the quiet warning in Erik's tone.

"You need not be…not anymore."

Erik's back was to him, and Raoul watched as Erik's broad shoulders gave just a little bit beneath his words.

"Let me help you." Raoul's words were quietly finding their way into Erik's wounded heart. "I will unhook the horses from behind my carriage and we can transport D'Ombre to his final resting place."

Erik gave a slight incline of his chin, "As you wish."

♥♠♣♦

Lavanya could not stop crying as she watched Raoul unhook the horses and head back toward the stables. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do - not going to Erik when she knew how much he was hurting.

"Stay here, he wants to do this…then he insists that he wants to be left alone…but he needs you so desperately."

Lavanya understood, and would bide her time until she could comfort Erik in a way only the woman who loved him could.

Erik and Raoul worked together to load D'Ombre and guide the horses to the necessary spot.

They began digging the hole, pausing every few moments to swipe the sweat from their brow. Erik had stripped down to just his pants and boots – as had Raoul.

They finally finished digging, after a long drought of no talking. The beloved animal was placed in the grave and they worked diligently to put the black soil back into the hole.

Erik would not allow himself to cry…there was no need. He had only himself as a source of comfort – and that was no comfort at all. He had not shed a tear in years, until Christine had penetrated his hardened heart; and he had not shed one since.

They leaned against a large log, wiping their brows and dutifully trying to avoid small talk.

The amiable attitude they had settled into was encouraging to Raoul. He no longer wanted to be this man's enemy – Christine loved him too much.

"I will lend whatever help I can to find these men." Erik's head rose abruptly and a strange, inquiring look rested on his face.

At first, Erik seemed inclined to disregard Raoul's statement; but dark, iridescent eyes regarded him from beneath long, dusky lashes.

Raoul frowned, "You cannot think that you are going to do this on your own?"

Erik's hands crossed in front of him as he leaned against the log with his legs stretched out before him. He looked over and saw a young oak tree sprouting through the ground and he bent over to dig it up.

He transplanted the young seedling to D'Ombre's grave. He walked over to the small brook that babbled about forty feet away and dunked his shirt beneath the water to soak it completely.

He sprinted back to the young sapling and squeezed the water from the shirt onto the tree, giving it an extra boost of hope.

Raoul had watched this entire exchange and marveled at the care that Erik took with the tree. Erik knelt down over the grave and looked like a lost little boy for a few minutes. Raoul's unanswered question still hung in the air.

"This is my fight – and mine alone…" Erik finally stated, quietly and reserved. "...your wife would never forgive me if something happened to you."

"And neither yours _nor_ mine would ever forgive me if something happened to you." Raoul echoed.

Erik scoffed without humor and his smirk held no mirth.

"Do not think for one moment that she cares for me in the same way Christine cares for you…we are – at best – friends."

Erik saw the look in Raoul's eyes and could not look straight at him. He knew that the truth glistened in his eyes; he had fallen in love with his wife. It had happened the first day he met her; however, it had taken a while to accept it.

His ambition to become a complete fool was complete.

It was not his place to dispute Erik in any way, so Raoul kept silent…almost.

"Talk to her, Erik…she needs to know what is going on….do not just assume that she does not care."

This felt rather strange to Erik, talking in a civil manner to Raoul. The pain of loosing D'Ombre seemed easier to bear when the young nobleman kept him busy in conversation.

Erik felt a drop of rain trickle down his bare face and looked upward. A tattered veil of dark clouds floated above them; the threat of an impending storm in their majestic beauty.

"We need to gather everything and get the horses back before we get stuck in a major…."

Erik did not get a chance to complete the sentence as a shattering rip of lightening struck the ground several hundred feet away.

They hurriedly picked up the tools they had used and strapped them to one of the horses.

"You ride on to the manor; I will put away everything."

Raoul did no argue. As he made his way toward the manor, the rain only fell slightly, but began a heavy downpour before Erik made it back.

He surged through the door, soaked to the bone. Raoul came into the foyer to help and saw that Erik's shirt was not buttoned and he was completely drenched. The shirt clung to parts of his chest and the rest was exposed.

"Erik, you should button your shirt."

Erik looked down at his almost bare chest and shrugged his shoulders as he ran his fingers through this dripping hair. His voice was even but full of self-mocking.

"I doubt that my bare chest is going to arouse illicit thoughts…"

He turned as he spoke the last word, and saw several sets of eyes on him – all female, except Raoul's – whose raised brow would have been comical under any other circumstances.

"Erik…"

Her voice soothed his torn nerves and stole the last remaining shards of his heart. He slowly lifted his inimitable eyes and saw the tears coursing down her face.

It seemed, in that moment, that his own sorrow surfaced and the tears he had tried so hard not to shed – that he had hoped never to have to face – spilled forth.

"Excuse me." He murmured.

He moved toward the staircase – having no desire to face the unending barrage of questions that he was certain everyone had.

His tears had pierced her heart as proficiently as a beautiful but deadly blade and she longed to be by his side.

She glanced at Christine, then at Raoul – both of them giving her positive nods; however, Madam Giry stated the obvious.

"Follow him…he does not need to be alone...not matter how much he insists upon it."

TBC

I am sorry for the brutality of this chapter - but it was necessary to move forward...D'Ombre will live on...


	35. Chapter 35 One Step Closer

Thank you for bearing with me through the last two chapter...I love you gals!!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 35

_Earlier that same day. _

"Face it mother, you lost control of this situation a long time ago."

Phillip was facing the same indignation and belligerent snobbishness that Raoul had faced when he had announced his intention to not only court Christine, but to marry her.

"Your father will have a fit when he finds out what is happening to this family."

Vallatina de Changy was still a beautiful woman, even at fifty-eight; her sharp blue eyes missed nothing when it came to her two wayward sons. It seemed they were both determined to send her husband to an early grave.

Phillip snorted his disbelief at her words. Loring de Changy, although still technically the Count, had long ago surrendered his title and holdings to his eldest son. He had grown weary as his age advanced, and just wanted to spend his last years enjoying what was left of his life.

Phillip remembered a time, not too many months ago, that Loring had sat him down and told him to seek happiness – no matter how he achieved it – or with whom.

_"You brother had found a woman that makes him happy and has blessed him with a love that is strong and steadfast…I wish the same for you, Phillip." _

_Loring, almost blind in both eyes, stared at the hazy image of his son and smiled with approval. _

_"Find your soul mate – chorus girl, dancer, gypsy princess, or baroness – it does not matter; the choice is yours." _

Phillip had squeezed his fathers weathered hand and then leaned in for a hug. Loring had always been the softhearted one in the family; Vallatina was tough, and yielded little in the lives of her sons; she would have made a great general in Napoleon's army.

She stood in front of him, arching her back to look into his eyes. She was a tiny thing – about as wide as she was tall – and as menacing as a summer storm; but she no longer held the sway over her sons that she once had…and it did not bode well with her.

"I will ask Monsieur Lacroix if I may court her…officially. We have seen each other at the opera house, but I have never actually taken her anywhere."

Her eyes were wide and if there been a way for her to spew daggers at him with them, she would have done so.

"Monsieur Lacroix! The man is hardly suitable to be a guardian! My heavens…that face of his is absolutely grotesque and any woman he has held within his demented grasp has to be tainted in some way!"

Phillips anger was seething and he found it hard not to shake some sense into his mother. She was the typical noblewoman – haughty and patronizing – thinking everyone who was not within her social class was not worthy of the air they breathed.

"Really? I do believe that he is the most talented composer Europe has seen in years – and I am not alone in that assessment – Nikolai is of the same belief. His music his modern and lifts a few eyebrows, but the younger people are finding it to their liking."

Phillip was having a little bit too much enjoyment watching his mother's stoic countenance change to one of utter discontent.

"Any quite frankly, mother; father would be more appalled at your ridiculous prejudices, then he would at anything I have done or will do."

She started to disagree, but she immediately clamped her mouth shut – knowing she had argued with her husband on many occasions about his acceptance of people below their social status – and even those with physical deformities. The reality of it sent her into an intolerant anger.

"Phillip, please do not pursue this chit…she will bring nothing but ruin down on this family."

Her pleading words only served to make him roll his eyes and drop his chin embarrassingly towards his chest.

"The decision is mine to make and I will no longer chastise Raoul because of his choice for a bride – Christine makes him happy, Mother – I would think that would be enough for you."

She pouted, but knew that she could not sway him any more. He was a grown man of thirty-three and she had lost her influence in his life long ago.

"Any ruin coming down on this family has been caused by years of in-breeding and intolerance – I think it is time things change…." He squared his broad shoulders and looked down his straight nose at her, "…for the better."

He made his exit on that note, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room staring after him like a lost soul. He cared little about what she said; and cared even less about what she thought.

He made his way toward the opera house, reliving the conversation with his mother. She really was a piece of work…and he could take no more of her shenanigans.

The confrontation had gone better than he had expected, actually. Vallatina was a force to be reckoned with – or, she had been at one time. Phillip had always been closer to his father than he was to his mother, and she had always been harder on him. He supposed a slight bitterness had developed inside him toward her; one he found rather hard to dismiss.

The carriage rolled to a slow halt in front of the opera house and he nodded at Nikolai, who stood at the front door waiting on him. He instructed the carriage driver to return in a couple of hours.

"I did it Nikolai…I confronted my mother about Tarrah and she did exactly as I predicted she would – only there was less dramatics than I had anticipated."

"This is good my friend."

Nikolai swatted him, rather roughly, on the back with a huge grin on his face.

Phillip returned the large grin and they walked up the long entrance and through the double doors.

"Your young lady is looking exceptionally lovely this morning."

Phillip looked toward the stage as Tarrah finished her song and they touched gazes. His heart lurched with the knowledge that soon – if Monsieur Lacroix would allow it – he could court her.

"Hello beautiful."

Tarrah heard the deep resonating voice and turned around to smile into Phillip's handsome face. He was nothing like the man she had always thought would capture her heart – at least not on the inside.

He was a handsome man…there was no doubt about that. Thick, blond hair hung to just below his collar and intelligent hazel eyes with a hint of deep lavender within their depths – they were a most unusual color. His face was slender and defined, with a mustache and no beard, a strong, angled jaw, and full mouth – which always seemed to curve into a smile when he saw her.

Like the proper gentleman that he was, he brought her wrist toward him for a chaste kiss, but he could feel her trembling heart in the pulse beneath his lips.

"Phillip, you look splendid."

He winked as she smiled lusciously at him.

"Did you talk to your mother?"

"Yes and she was predictably herself…but I will not allow that to stop me."

His determined brow and slight frown only fueled her curiosity.

"I only hope Erik will be acceptable of our courting…his blessing is very important to me."

Phillip nodded, agreeing with her. He wanted Erik's approval also, even though the man was only two years older than he was, Phillip was determined to treat him with the respect and honor he deserved as the guardian of the woman he intended to marry.

"I intend to speak with him today…and you must set things straight with him…you have been crying every day since you had words."

"I will….I miss him so much."

She heard her name and could not determine where it was coming from. She looked around the stage and then her eyes fell upon the shadowed figure approaching the stage.

" Lawrence?"

"Mistress Tarrah, you must come quickly…something has happened at the manor."

She went stiff at the tone in his voice and immediately knew that something horrible had happened.

He lost no time in telling her what had happened, and the brutality of it made her weep. Phillip stood beside her, lending his arms as support and comforting the deluge of tears that cascaded down her face.

Madam Giry had overheard and was readying herself to go to Erik.

"Do you wish me to go with you?"

Phillip could think of nowhere else to be, but by her side as she tried to help Erik.

She smiled, but he saw the answer in her eyes.

"No, now is not the time."

He could do nothing but stand awkwardly as she walked around him, gathered her things, and left the opera house.

"What happened?"

Phillip turned and saw Richard Firmin and Gillis André walking toward him.

The story was retold for their benefit, and the only on Richard's mind was being there for Annette – she thought of Erik as a son – and this would certainly effect her if he was traumatized.

Both men felt helpless in the situation and neither had the slightest idea of what to do.

"This is a rather strange feeling for me…being in love with a strong woman."

Phillip spoke aloud, not caring that the older man listened intently; but Richard's voice echoed with understanding as his head bobbled up and down in agreement.

"I would have it no other way."

Phillip chuckled lightly and leaned against the banister of the prop staircase.

"Neither would I."

♦♠♣♥

Yves paced the floor, irritated with everything and everyone around him. There had been no time to fully complete their plan, and the fact that they left witnesses did not settle well on his stomach.

"One task, Pieter…one task…that is all that I gave you…" his malevolent eyes bore into the unconcerned features of the younger man,. "…and you could not even do that right...you had to 'savor' the moment and take it slowly."

"Perhaps if you would have let me take care of the horse – things would have worked out better…" the menacing softness of his voice only served to infuriate Yves even more, "…I told you I wanted to do it!"

The last phrase was screamed through clenched teeth, and Yves stopped pacing long enough to advance on the stunned young man.

"Do not EVER raise your voice at me…do you understand?"

The spitting words were into Pieter's face with great force, and for the first time, the young man feared his mysterious and secretive friend.

"This is my mission, my plan…" he emphasized each word with a thrust of his finger toward his chest, "…you would still be rotting in that flea-infested hospital if it were not for me." Yves had him by the lapels of his jacket and Pieter felt like a fly caught in the spider's web. "Things are to be done as I say they are to be done…or I will take matters into my own hands…is that clear?"

He released his strong hold and began pacing again.

"Our point was made and he understands the message…that is what matters."

Pieter coward away from him, suddenly feeling like a lost little boy; there were many things he did not know about Yves Demidov; and that detail was beginning to bother him.

Yves turned to him and smiled with a sickening sweetness that would have made milk curdle.

"I wanted no witnesses, Pieter…and you left three."

Pieter stared into the distance – not giving the older man his attention.

"They may have seen me…but none of them know who I am…and now they live in terror." He laughed with all the beauty and humor of destruction, decay, and death.

"And he felt our presence…I was so real to him, and he did not know where to find me."

Yves calmed himself...relishing the idea of having Erik on his knees begging for mercy. His voice was pregnant with wry charm.

"It will not be long before he is with us, my pet…I promise you." Yves cooed, "Then you will both get what you deserve."

Pieter forgot about his reluctance and suspicions, and enjoyed the remaining hours of the day reaping the rewards of his own blind trust.

TBC


	36. Chapter 36 Love Me Tender

Hopefully, this chapter will make everyone happy. Have a safe Memorial Day.

Remember our heroes...our men and women in the armed forces, police force, fire and rescue, and the emergency medical personnel...remember those men and woman from around the world that have fought beside Americans, comrades in arms, against tyranny and injustice - wherever it may rear its ugly head - and have...when it was asked of them...given all that they had to give...

ALL GAVE SOME...BUT SOME GAVE ALL...FALLEN BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.

My youngest son, Matthew, graduated from high school yesterday with honors. He has been accepted into the prestiges nuclear program with the United States Navy, and would like to pursue a career in law someday. I thank my Lord and Savior every day for the blessing that my children have been, are, and will continue to be, to me.

Today, my oldest son turns 22...he is struggling with life decisions and where God would have him be and how he will have the money to do what he feels called to do.

My middle son will be getting married in a month, and - despite the fact that he knows it was wrong in accordance to our belief system, which is founded in the Bible - they are also going to have a baby. A baby...another wonderful blessing from God.

If any of you are praying people, I ask your prayers for my family as we face some changing times. Thanks for listening.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 36

Annette's words hung in the air as they watched him reach the top of the stairs without glancing back. Once he disappeared behind his door, Raoul heaved a large sigh.

"He held D'Ombre while he died…and I do not think he has allowed himself to fully grieve yet…"

Lavanya nodded her agreement and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"I will give him a little while…he values his solitude; but I will not allow him to grieve alone, I promise you."

Her tone was unwavering but ruled by a softness that glistened in the tears that crept down her face; she centered her eyes on Tarrah and Annette, but everyone agreed. Annette smiled and offered her services.

"I will take it upon myself to hire some temporary replacements for Mr. Tibbs, Mrs. McGhee, and Mitzi…you need not bother with that."

Lavanya was thankful for this and nodded absently…still worrying about Erik's frame of mind.

♠♦♣♥

_An hour later… _

Tarrah sat in stunned shock, looking out the window; the doctor had come and pronounced that Erik's quick thinking had saved the lives of his staff, especially Mr. Tibbs.

"They are well-adjusted and all of them are eager to return to work…but I suggest giving them as much as a week to fully recover…" Dr. Kavanagh suggested. "…I tried to tend to Mr. Lacroix, but he was quite adamant about not allowing me into the room."

**FLASHBACK **

_"Monsieur Lacroix…I am Dr. Gerard Kavanagh; your wife sent me up here to check on you." _

_He had knocked several times, with no answer, but he decided to try one more time. _

_"Monsieur Lacroix…" _

_"Go Away!!" Came a bellowing, strained voice, "I have no need of doctors!" _

_"Monsieur Lacroix…your wife is concerned…" _

_The deafening silence seemed more frightening than the booming baritone did; and Gerard heard a quiet, despairing cry. _

_"Please…just go away." _

_Gerard shook his head and surrendered to the will of the master of the house. _

_"You saved the lives of your staff, Monsieur; I wanted you to know that." _

_He walked away from the closed door, still hearing a mournful, low cry. _

**END FLASHBACK**

Annette and Lavanya glanced at each other and nodded.

"The older lady…Mrs. McGhee…was quite concerned about Monsieur Lacroix…despite her own injuries."

Tarrah smiled and laughed gently.

"Blanche is very dedicated and thinks of him as a son…her only child – a daughter – died some years back of typhoid fever…Erik is all she has."

They saw the Doctor out and then joined the others in the parlor. The discussions had been quiet and full of grievous heaviness at first, but they began to speculate on the events that had occurred.

"Who would do such a horrible thing?" Annette asked, capturing everyone attention.

Raoul shook his head and scoffed, "He says he knows who did this…and will kill them himself…." Everyone scowled upon hearing this and Raoul shrugged his shoulders. "…I do not blame him…he fears that D'Ombre's torture was just a warning and that Lavanya is the real target."

"What if he is the target?" Lavanya stated, speaking loudly and authoritatively. "What if he is the one they are after and this was done just to get his concern focused on me?"

Her anger was beginning for flare and she was not going to stand by helplessly as some maniac threatened her husband…she would die defending him.

Raoul saw the determined glare in her eyes and realized how like Erik she was. She was strong and fearless…her passion for her husband was her driving force and she would stop at nothing to accomplish her goals.

"He thinks it is Pieter." Raoul finally revealed, "Pieter and some unknown accomplice."

"Pieter?" Everyone in the room said the name at the same time…except Lavanya.

"He is dead…the papers said so." Tarrah was not ready to accept the fact that there had been a mistake made in the identification process.

Raoul leaned forward, placed his elbows on his knees, raised this entwined hands to his thin lips, and furrowed his brow.

"I trust Erik's instincts – they are more developed and highly trained than anyone's and he is emphatic about it."

"What are we going to do about it?" Lavanya asked as she stood up. "Something needs to be done…and soon…." She headed toward the door and then turned to dismiss them, "…I hope I do not appear rude, but I have a husband that needs me and he is my priority…please show yourselves out."

Raoul stood, helped Christine to her feet, and they walked toward the door leading out, "I will call on Erik tomorrow – late afternoon…around six o'clock; he will be playing poker with me, my brother Phillip, and Phillip's musical friend Nikolai, from Russia….we will discuss some strategic moves at that time."

He stepped forward and lifted her hand to his lips for a polite kiss, "He told me that his love is like a poison…killing everyone that he loves…" he patted her hand and smiled, "…he will try to push you away…" his serious eyes held a glint of mischief, "…do not let him."

He tipped the hat he had just put on his head, took Christine's elbow, opened the door, and they were gone.

♠♦♥♣

He had been alone for over an hour and Lavanya felt she needed to be with him. She eased up the stairs as quickly as she could and made her way toward his bedroom…which she intended to share with him from this night on...making it _their_ bedroom.

The door was not open, but a slight turn of the knob solved that problem and she opened it just wide enough for her to fit through.

The room was massive; populated very beautifully with equally massive furniture. The room was not the dark haven she had expected it to be…it was rather inviting and seemed to welcome her has she walked upon the plush carpet that covered the floor.

Light cream-colored walls were decorated with various pieces of artwork…some personal works of his and a collection of pieces from his various travels. The wood trim around the windows, the border around the ceiling and the baseboards were all natural, dark mahogany with inlaid carvings in intricate designs; she loved the room – it was as elegantly masculine as Erik was.

She heard the sloshing of water and walked directly toward the washroom door, noticing that it had been left ajar about three inches.

Erik rested in the tub; his head falling back over the rim, and his dark hair creating a cascade of water drops onto the floor. His eyes were closed, and even through the droplets of bath water, she could see that he had been crying.

Even now, with his eyes closed, tears rolled down the side of his face, crossing his temple and rolling into his hairline.

From the looks of it, he had not been in the tub long, but had taken his grief and anger out on the walls before succumbing to the need to be clean.

She saw straight lines of blood oozing down the wall and knew that he had slammed his fist against the hardness; perhaps for no other reason than to know that he still had the ability to feel.

She found the sight of his bloodied hand, clutching the side of the tub, to be too much and quietly moved the door enough to allow her entrance.

He startled and raised the dark wing of his brow – no one had ever entered the washroom while he was in such a state – who was he kidding – no one had entered his washroom – period.

"Erik…?"

His whispered name on her breath reached his ears and he raised his head off the tub; he did not look at her, but his head turned slightly in the direction of her voice.

"As you can see, I am fine…" he turned his head and lifted his proud chin, "…you may leave."

She heard the stubborn resentment in his voice and the masculine need to be in control at all times; but he felt out of control for the moment…and it was killing him.

"I have no intention of leaving…"

Her tone should have amused him, but his heart was torn in two and he could not find it within himself to smile.

"I am not very good company right now…"

He reached for the towel that was on the floor and glared at her. She turned from him and he stepped out of the tub and wrapped the towel securely around his waist. He walked past her, without looking at her, and headed into the bedroom.

Her eyes roved over his masculine figure; admiring the broad back, narrow hips and backside, and slim waist – but noticing the play of muscles hidden beneath the surface…he was built like a predator – lithe and lethal.

"You do not have to be the strong one all the time…lean on me this time."

He stopped mid-stride; it had been a very long time since anyone had wanted to be there for him…how he wished he could allow her to be.

He turned slightly and spoke, giving her a glimpse of his flawless profile, "Leave me, Lavanya…get as far away from me as you can…it is what is best for you."

She surged upon him, getting directly in front of him and staring frankly into his wounded eyes.

"You want to push me away…is that what you want?"

He jerked his head from her eyes, avoiding the mockery he knew was resting in their sea green pools.

"It does not matter what I want...it never has." he murmured.

"Erik…"

She touched her hand to his forearm, trying to draw him to her; but he yanked his arm out from under the warm touch…as though burned.

"Are you listening, woman?!" He bellowed, turning to regard her with suspicion in his eyes, "No matter what I want…you must leave and never return!"

"WHY?"

She had screamed the question at him…reacting to his brazen temper and raised voice.

He looked away from her and then turned from her completely – giving her his back. There was an almost imperceptible trembling in his shoulders and she knew he was fighting off the urge to crumble to the ground.

"Please, Anya…just leave." He finally whispered with such remorse. "Take anything and everything you need…take my world….I have no need of it anymore…" he glanced at her sadly – avoiding eye contact, "…just be happy and safe….that is all I ask."

He moved toward the bed and sat in the middle of it; the towel still snuggled against him. He moved a pillow behind him and leaned against the headboard, dropping his head and closing his eyes.

She stood her ground – not moving – until she got her answer.

"I deserve to know why you are turning away from me….why you insist on doing this."

He lifted dark, mournful eyes and shook his head.

"Because I am in love with you…" he stated softly and plainly, "…and I will not allow the fact that I am such a weak fool destroy you."

He had said the words she had longed to hear – that he had fallen in love with her despite his own reservations – despite not trusting his heart and ignoring the voices that always seemed to be echoing in his head.

She was suddenly sitting beside him, wrapping him in her arms and drawing his head into her lap. She gently moved her hands through his damp hair and played with the curls at his temples that always ignored any sign of structure and neatness.

"I tried, Anya…I really did…I did not want to love you…" he turned in her lap until his legs stretched out and hung slightly over the edge of the bed; his eyes finally resting on her lovely features, "…falling in love for me is painful and lonely. Actually…" he looked away, "…my love is a poison and anyone touched by my cursed heart is destined for tragedy."

"Erik…"

He did not acknowledge his name from her lips and continued; this time, his hand extended upward and caressed her soft cheek and a sorrowful smile rested on his lips.

"You have been a friend to me…and I am thankful to you for that."

Tears pooled and fell down the sides of his face, saturating his already damp hair with his sorrow. Lavanya soothed them away with the back of her hand, sweeping her fingers across his moist flesh and causing him to close his eyes at her touch.

"Erik…"

She rooted his face in her hands and stared down at him.

"I will get the annulment papers drawn up…you need to be free of any connection to me…" his voice was desperate and he completely ignored the furrowed brow and the stunned look on her face, "I will send you anywhere you wish to go and you will want for nothing…"

Lavanya had heard enough and the only way she was going to get his attention and keep his mind off the issues at hand, was to distract him.

Her lips claimed his and her warm, talented tongue tangled with his – immediately silencing his protests and sending his senses reeling.

She released him, only long enough for him to set up and pull her into his arms.

He kissed her this time, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her body against his…his hard, toned muscles begging to be seduced by her soft, delicious curves. He boldly traced the softness of her lips with his tongue and moaned when she opened for him.

He held her head between his hands and ravished her with building desire…he never wanted it to end; and yet, he knew it must.

They parted, each panting from awakened desire.

"Erik…you talk too much."

She slid from the bed, and began her seduction; starting with her suri. She unwrapped its long strand of material and dropped it to the floor. Every move she made was like a graceful swan barely making ripples in the water; but so breathtakingly beautiful.

Erik had eased over to the edge of the bed and sat down…watching her with deep, resplendent eyes and parted lips. He did not take his eyes off her as she slowly removed the bottom of her outfit and the undergarments beneath it.

He swallowed deeply, not believing what his eyes were seeing. She stood before him, nude from the waist down. He took in her long, gold-toned legs, the sway of her hips and dark curls that teased his eyes into seeking her most intimate part.

His body immediately went rock hard, reacting to the visual stimuli she was providing him. She did not stop there…she pulled the choli over her head, removed the undergarment and stood before him – completely nude.

He had long since lost the ability to speak, his grief had subsided to a brief glimmer, and his body was in a state of painful euphoria.

"Anya…" her name burst forth from his lips like a song…she was pure perfection – in his eyes anyway: maple-colored skin, curves in all the right places, a glow of desire in her dark azure eyes – and she was looking at him like he was the only man on earth.

"I am not here to talk." She whispered.

His eyes followed her angelic form as she moved to the side of the bed and wound her hands into his hair; she gently pushed his head into her soft belly and caressingly forked her fingers through it – relishing its thickness and softness.

His arms wound around her waist as he placed tender kisses on the soft plumpness of her tummy. He was not thinking about anything but the demands of his body. His tongue trailed over her skin and delved into the crevice of her belly button, making her hiss from the sensation.

"That reminds me….do you think I kiss my friends like I kiss you?"

He pulled back and looked up at her inquisitively; a baffled look on his own face.

"Excuse me?"

She kissed him, pushing him back and straddling his hips as she did so. He was imprisoned between her powerful thighs and the seduction of her lips - a hopeless situation where he was concerned.

The kiss was rich with seducing power and they both moaned their approval. Erik's large hands finally settled on her firm backside and squeezed the pliable flesh until she was squirming delightfully against him.

"Do you think I kiss my friends like that?" Her husky voice seduced his ears even as his lips mourned the loss of her sweet warmth.

He pursed his lips and frowned; his passion-fevered mind barely registering her words.

"I would not know….but…I…." he stuttered helplessly, "…no?"

"That kind of kissing is a very intimate act, Erik...reserved only for the most intimate relationships."

The dark huskiness in her voice was exquisitely tantalizing on the sensitive length of his spine…her voice caressing his flesh as flagrantly and skillfully as her hands when they traced the contours of his chest.

"We have an intimate relationship?" he was enthralled by her words…what did she mean to imply?

She smiled down at him and ground her aching core into his taut erection.

"I am not going anywhere, Erik…I have no intention of leaving you or of abandoning this marriage….I am in love with you, as well."

The smile that had begun to form on his lips suddenly disappeared and he stared up into her earnest eyes.

"What did you say?"

She smiled and repeated herself.

"I said that I am not going anywhere; I am not leaving you…"

"…no…that last part." He interrupted softly, with a smirky grin on his beautiful face.

She wrapped his face in the embrace of her eyes, committing every laugh line, every distinguishing mark, and every twinkle of his green eyes to memory.

"I love you."

His breath hitched and his eyes hazed over with tears.

"You love me?" He repeated, "Love…like a friend…like a relative…"

"…like a husband…the virile, sensual, enticing man that you are…I love you and will stand by you through this rough time and we will find these horrible men together…"

He opened his mouth to protest, but she clamped her hand over it to keep him silent.

"…TOGETHER." She emphasized.

She removed her hand slowly, to find him resisting a smile.

"There is nothing I can do or say that will talk you out of this?"

She shook her head slowly; the tendrils of her dark hair dallying with the expanse of his chest and awakening his body to even more pleasurable sensations.

"How can you love me, Anya….you cannot be serious…" he whispered, "…look at me."

She chuckled and lifted her hand to his face. She slowly swept her eyes over his features again, smiling as she encountered every disagreeable strand of hair that managed always to be out of place; the consuming depth of his green eyes framed by dark, long lashes; and the sensual camber of his lips. He only showed signs of age with a few tiny creases near the corners of his eyes and the dusting of grey at his temples – he was beautiful – and tonight, she would show him this truth.

"I am looking at you, and I have been looking at you for a couple of weeks – watching you hide the beautiful man that I know you are beneath layers of clothing and self-hatred…" she moved her hands caressingly over the slope of his forehead, the curve of his cheekbones, and the fullness of his lips. "Tonight, you will come alive in my arms…and our bodies will create the most beautiful music together."

The last few words feathered across his lips as she barely skimmed her mouth over his. She did the same to his eyelids and the curve of his neck, until he could take no more and ran his hands boldly up her thighs, over the sway of her backside, across her ribcage, and came to rest at the under curve of her breasts.

Her breath hitched in anticipation of his touch – a touch he was withholding – she opened the eyes she did not remember closing and smiled into his deep green gaze. She did not realize until that very moment how many shades of green his eyes could be.

"This is both the saddest and the most amazing day of my life…" he explained, "I lost my dearest friend today – an ache that will be with me forever…"

His hands grazed upward and fully lifted her full breasts, he instinctively ran the pads of his thumbs over their aching peaks; and his mouth began to water from the need to have her in his mouth.

Her eyes drifted shut, her head lulled back, and Erik ran his tongue along the enticing line of her neck…hearing her moan with desire.

He lifted his hips, swelling into her abdomen as their flesh made contact.

"However, I find that my wife – whom I have loved since my eyes rested on her – has come to love me." He lowered his head and swept his eager tongue over one dark, aching nipple. "I do believe that makes this an amazing day in my life."

There were no more words spoken at that point. Erik turned his attentions to her ready body…feeding his starving desires with her abundant bounty. He lathed his tongue around her nipples – relishing every moan he evoked from her luscious mouth.

Somehow, he was once again perched against the headboard with her straddling his hips. His large, articulate hands cradled each perfect, pert breast – gently kneading the pliable flesh and enjoying the warmth that spread through him with every gentle tug she made on his hair. She had wound her arms around his neck, giving him full access to her entire front.

The embers of the fire had enveloped the room in a luscious warmth, bathing them in a illusory hue; but all that Lavanya felt was Erik…everywhere….his hands and mouth – novice though they were – were setting her body aflame with desire and the pooling warmth in her womb was crying out for completeness.

She began the slow movement of her hips against his burgeoning stiffness…and he moaned loudly in his approval of her eagerness. He was about to burst if they did not do something soon.

Startling him with her eagerness, Lavanya embraced one of his large hands and moved it down her body until it cupped her heated core in its palm and then she pulled her eyes to his.

He read her need and knew what she desired. Moving his hand and inserting a finger into her tightness, Erik felt his body surge with its own need as he penetrated her. She leaned into his strong chest and rested her head against him as he enticed her body with a savage, exquisite tenderness that left her breathless and quivering with need.

Erik's fingers licked at her swollen flesh and he inserted another; relishing in her soft intake of breath and knowing she was deriving pleasure from his unlearned touch.

She bucked against his hand, and Erik pulled her mouth to his; plunging his tongue into her mouth as he coaxed her into a state of preparedness. She answered his hot tongue with her own and moaned into his mouth as her body started a steady climb toward the heavens.

Her honeyed softness embraced his fingers like a long, lost lover. She was alive in his arms…and she was wanton and demanding as she placed her hand over his and drove him deeper into her.

He pulled his mouth from her and watched as she shuddered against him – lost in the bliss of her orgasm; the flush of her skin, her nipples hardened even more, her lips deepened in color, and her eyes were only half closed - until she opened them to look directly at him.

She moved her hips and leaned into him until she felt his hardness at her entrance…she waited – only briefly – and started to ease him inside her…pulling her bottom lip into her mouth and whimpering at the wonderful feel of him.

"Oh…you are so hard and ready, my love…take me…."

He held her; feeling her, seeing her, touching her….her whispered plea broke through what remained of his defenses and he threw himself into her. Her head shot back at the invasion, but the pain was only fleeting – replaced quickly by the growing embers of another, imminent climax.

Erik – never having been inside a woman before – was not going to last long…and he knew it. The feel of her was incredible; warm and calming – cradling his flesh like it was coming home from a long absence. He swelled within her – a phenomena he found fascinating – and slowly began the rhythm that he had only read about – or seen in passing at the opera house.

She moved her legs, putting her knees beside him and her feet flat on the mattress. She placed her hands on each side of his head – embracing the headboard. He was at her mercy – and despite the climax that was building within her – she wanted to watch him as he reached his.

She watched his features as she moved over him – pounding upon his stiffness with the force of a woman who could not get enough. She marveled at the sheer beauty of his muscled body reacting to the strange sensations she was giving it, his slightly agape mouth with the most delectable lips she had ever tasted, and every belligerent strand of hair that always framed his face so perfectly.

He was her perfection…she man she was created to be with…her soul mate.

A slow, animalistic growl began in his chest and his breathing became ragged and faster. The obsidian pools that were his eyes stationed on her as he increased the speed of his hips and surged into her with greater force.

She took his mouth with hers as she felt him stiffen even more within her…his time was drawing very close. She mated with his tongue and then smiled into his mouth as he moaned in his release; bucking against her wildly.

His seed poured into her – pounding against the outer gates of her womb and begging entrance. He plunged into her several times before he relaxed against her – his arms wrapped around her and she rested against his chest – both spent and smiling.

His breathing returned to normal, as did hers and they enjoyed some heavy kissing as their bodies recuperated and readied for another romp.

"I never imagined you would feel so good…I think I will never tire of this wonderful act of making love to you." She winked. "I intend to make you a slave to my every whim."

"I already am, my love…I already am." He purred, and kissed her senseless.

♣♠♦♥

"This man…Pieter…was his name…what was he to you?"

They had made love again, rocking against each other with her beneath him this time….neither one had ever felt such bliss and lay naked and entwined within the bed sheets; enjoying the afterglow.

Erik kissed her forehead and pulled her closer to him. He had told her what his suspicions were concerning the men behind D'Ombre's torture; and now, she had questions.

"He was my pupil…a few years ago."

Lavanya rose up on her elbows and looked down into Erik's sad eyes.

"Your pupil…and now he does this to you…" she shook her head and bit her bottom lip in anger, "…it makes no sense."

"He had feelings for me, Anya….feelings I did not return."

She studied him intently and then lifted her brow as understanding spanned across her features.

"Feelings…." She nodded, "…I see."

"I suppose that whatever he felt for me has turned into deep, seeded hatred…." Erik deduced, "…but I must stop him and his mysterious cohort..." Erik stated, kissing her upturned mouth lightly and rubbing her arm softly with his hand; then he turned serious and lifted her chin to look deep into his eyes, "…or I fear their next target will be you…and I will not allow that to happen."

She pulled her body atop his and straddled his abdomen, pinning him beneath her. Her breasts were exposed to his green gaze and he lifted that gaze to her eyes, wondering what was going through her thoughts.

He touched her, circling her hardening peaks with his thumbs and immediately feeling his body respond to her bodies awakening.

"And I fear their target is you, my love…and _I _will not allow that to happen…so it appears we are at an impasse."

Her voice was growing husky and she moved her hands to cover his as he played her body into a building crescendo of desire.

"You will stay out of harms way…do you understand me?" He was serious and his tone left no room for discussion.

He stopped the foreplay and looked at her with earnest concern in his eyes. She held his face between her hands, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Raoul has promised to help you – and he knows others that will help…." Erik raised his chin and narrowed his eyes at her.

"You wish me to accept his help…do you not?"

Lavanya nodded.

"He will be by tomorrow evening at 6:00 to take you to a poker game…he will have his brother and one of his Russian acquaintances there…" Lavanya watched Erik get a most peculiar look on his face, "…and yes…you will do this, Erik; he only wishes to help and feels that they can discuss a few things over the game."

"I have accepted the boy into my life…" she was not going to budge on the issue and he could see it in her eyes, "….but playing poker with him…Anya…" he lifted his brow, hoping his puppy eyes would win her over, "…and what is the deal with his brother…I have never met the man."

He was pleading in his own way and Lavanya found it quite amusing; but Raoul's help was needed – she did not intend to allow Erik to pursue this madman on his own.

She stared him down and he finally relaxed beneath her, yielding to her iron will. He cherished the realization that she loved him and wanted him to be safe.

"It will be fun…" she assured him, "….as for Count Phillip de Chagny – talk to Tarrah."

_Tarrah? _

He furrowed his brow and started to ask; but it was at that moment, Lavanya started a downward journey with her mouth – over his marvelous chest and across his flat abdomen, and further still – and Erik forgot the question – and all else except her soft, inviting mouth.

TBC


	37. Chapter 37 Who Am I?

I am thankful for each of you. Many questions will be answered in the next couple of chapters; enjoy. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 37

Although his heart still ached, Erik was walking in the clouds. Lavanya – above all reason and understanding – loved him. She had unabashedly and without remorse given her virginal body to him and had taken his with the same abandonment.

He stood before the mirror – still not finding it easy to rest his own eyes on his marred features – but he knew that Anya loved him despite his scars.

He was timorous about this poker game…every nuance of his being told him he had no desire to participate in such frivolous activities…but he was equally as eager to become a part of the normal activities of men in his class.

The slant of his cravat did not quite look right and he could not seem to get it to settle just right. He had been fighting with it for several minutes, when a quiet knock sounded on the bedroom door.

"Enter."

Tarrah stood there, looking lost and timid before him. She had not seen him since the night before…briefly…and he had been unresponsive toward everyone.

Tears were threatening to fall down her cheeks and Erik went to her in a mere four strides.

"Tarrah…I am so sorry for my behavior…I never met to imply that you are not able to make your own decisions concerning courtship and matters of the heart."

He cradled her in his arms…feeling every bit the father that he hoped she saw him as.

She pulled back, wiping the tears from her eyes and sniffling back the others.

"And I am sorry for what I said about you and your love for Lavanya…but she loves you Erik…it is so obvious to everyone but you."

He laughed; a full, flavorful laugh that took Tarrah by complete surprise.

"I know, Tarrah..." he smiled, and the power of it reached his eyes, making them a splendid shade of jade, "...I know. "

Her face could not have been more resplendent. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him so tightly that she felt she might have cracked his ribs had he been a slighter man. She pulled away, wiping tears of joy from her face.

"I am so happy for you both!"

With a flick of her wrist and assessing eyes, she fixed his cravat without being asked and then smiled up at him; not understanding the perplexing way he examined the cravat.

He looked back at her and took her hand, leading her from the room, down the stairs, and into the drawing room.

"Now, tell me about this man who has stolen your heart, but has yet to ask permission to court you."

Tarrah looked worried, scanned the confines of the room, and then stretched her neck to peek down the long foyer – as though looking for something, or someone, in particular.

"Tarrah?" Erik asked, with a wrinkled brow.

She jerked back toward him and bit her bottom lip.

"Where is Lavanya?"

"She went into town with Christine…they are doing..." he paused, looking for the right term, but could not find one, "...whatever it is that women do together…and some poor sap of a lad has been commissioned to accompany them…" he sighed with exasperation, "…Anya would not allow me to come along."

"Ahhhh…I see." Tarrah parried, looking only slightly more relaxed. "Why are you dressed as if you are going out?"

Erik once again looked down at his dark blue suit, and frowned woefully.

"I have been instructed to join the Viscount, his brother – the count; whose name is Phillip, I believe – and Phillip's Russian friend for a stimulating night of poker."

His tone was bored, but he could not avoid the hopeful lift he had in his voice.

Tarrah gasped at the mention of Phillip's name and Erik narrowed his eyes…realizing the blush that covered her cheeks and the softening of her blue eyes at the sound of his name.

"Phillip?" Erik repeated, with a daunting tone, a tilt of his head, and a lift of his dark brow.

Tarrah did not flinch, much to her credit, but Erik was an expert at reading emotions…and he knew she was hiding her true feelings.

"Tarrah…" he drawled, "...Phillip is the man you are interested in…is he not?"

She did not have to say a word; he read it in her eyes.

"You do realize that he is only a couple of years younger than I am?"

She shook her head and smiled, putatively.

"And you do realize that he is a titled member of the nobility?"

She nodded again, a smile daring to form on her lips. She grasped his hands and spoke softly.

"Erik…I know that you have your differences with the family…but I want your blessing and approval…I am in love with him and he with me."

Erik lifted his hand and tucked several wayward, soft strands of strawberry tinted hair behind her ears; he realized just how much she had matured in the last two years and knew that she was ready for whatever life brought her.

"Actually, I have nothing against the family or Raoul – with my feelings for Christine becoming clear to me and with my true love settled deep within my heart – I find that I actually like the impetuous young man."

Erik smiled humorously and leaned back in the chair.

"Tonight we will discuss how to corner these insipid cowards that tortured D'Ombre and thought to bring me to my knees….I have spent the afternoon talking to Blanche, Mr. Gibbs, and Mitzi…I have found out many interesting things that I will use to hunt them down."

Tarrah shivered from the heated loathing she heard in his voice…he was suddenly the dark, dangerous, Phantom once again.

"Erik…do not do anything that will land you in prison."

His brow furrowed thunderously over the bridge of his nose; he had donned the white half-mask, and looked every bit the debonair, dauntingly handsome gentleman that Paris had discovered him to be; but beneath the polished outer shell – hidden by the graceful cut of his gentility - beat the feral heart of a very dangerous, highly skilled assassin.

"I would not dream of it."

♠♥♦♣

Erik had never really played poker before; it wasn't that he did not know how, he had just never had the opportunity. He had watched the game unfold before him – several times – at the opera house, but he had never participated.

Of course, the evening was an endless source of entertainment. Phillip had yet to approach him concerning Tarrah – a fact that amused Erik to no end – and Raoul was actually the only competition Erik faced in the game.

Nikolai, a very verbal but humble man, seemed genuinely star-struck at meeting Erik. He had done nothing but talk about music throughout the evening and Erik was pleased to have someone who seemed as passionate about music as he was.

"I would very much like to exchange ideas with you concerning your operas and musical dramas which I have been honored to see…" Nikolai stated, admirably. "…I could learn a great deal from you and reference your genius in my published work."

Erik bowed his head, acknowledging the man's idea.

"I would be happy to do this, Nikolai, but I really could not accept any credit…I just want to live quietly – having local success enough to support my family – and be happy for once in my life."

Nikolai understood, as best he could, and they continued to speak casually through the next hour.

It was sometime later that Raoul happened to lift his gaze from his cards and notice the determined, yet faraway, look in Erik's eyes – which rested on Nikolai with interest.

"Erik…it is your bet."

Erik moved only his eyes and stared through Raoul with ease – then went back to Nikolai.

"What is it…there is something on your mind, Erik...what is it?"

Erik leaned back in his chair and flung his arm over the back…the cards in his hand – three aces and two jacks – completely forgotten.

"I had a chance to talk with Blanche, Norman, and Mitzi today."

Raoul sat back in his chair and nodded, ready to learn what Erik intended to do and offer his services and protection as a nobleman.

" Norman offered the best description of the perpetrator and the best interpretation of events."

**FLASHBACK **

_"You saw them both?" Erik repeated. _

_Norman__ nodded. The first man he had described was Pieter…Erik recognized everything about him…but the second man was not so easy. _

_"He was only in here briefly…is that correct?" _

_"Yes Master, he came in after the first one had finished with us and I remember his evil smile…they spoke roughly to each other and then they heard you and Madam driving up." _

_Erik needed more. _

_"Who was the other man, _ _Norman__…think hard." _

_"I did not know him, Master Erik…but he spoke with a thick accent…very educated…like yourself." _

_Erik listened intently as Norman Tibbs went over the events of yesterday with him. _

_"What did he look like?" _

_Norman__ closed his eyes and pictured the man in his mind. _

_"He seemed rather tall, but not as tall as you are, Master. He had dark, graying hair and dingy blue eyes. He carried himself with regal grace…like nobility." _

_Erik sat in the chair next to the bed; his legs were crossed and his hands were in his lap. He looked relaxed; but in reality, his entire body was tense with fury. _

_"You said he had a thick accent…what sort of accent?" Erik asked, rubbing his chin in thought. _

_"It was a guttural accent, Master…not Western European – but Eastern." _

_"Like German." Erik offered. _

_Norman shook his head, "No…like Russian." _

_"What else, _ _Norman__…anything…even if it seems insignificant to you?" _

_Norman__ smiled and he realized that he remembered one thing of great importance. _

_"I heard the younger one call him 'Yves' and something about the Demidov family of _ _Russia__." _

_Erik was intrigued by _ _Norman__'s details and knowledge of the language. _

_"I helped train a Russian housekeeper several years ago…I picked up a few words." _

**END FLASHBACK **

"Demidov?"

All eyes turned to Nikolai, who had blurted the name out as soon as Erik mentioned it.

"Demetrius Demidov was one of the most notorious and brilliant members of Russian nobility."

Erik was listening…intently.

"In fact, the description you gave of the older gentleman with the Russian accent sounds very much like Demetrius Demidov." Nikolai paused, long enough to take a long draw from his cigarette and then he continued, "He had two sons from two different women…the first woman was his wife – a lovely woman but far too mousy – she balked under his abuse and turned a blind eye to his constant flow of mistresses."

"Why would a man who has a lovely woman at his side choose to have an affair – or multiple affairs?" Raoul asked and Erik grunted his agreement.

"He was a sick man…in many ways…anyway…" Nikolai continued, "…he doubted that the son she had given him was his and despite her constant insistence and the fact that the boy looked just like him – he had her beheaded for infidelity."

"What was the boys name and how old would he be?" Erik asked, disgusted with the details of Nikolai's story.

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders and stalled progress for a few moments.

"The name was never divulged and he would be in his early to mid-forties."

Raoul looked thoughtfully at Erik, "What would he want with you…it makes no sense."

"Approximately ten years after his son was born and before he became the lecherous womanizer that he was, Demetrius became intimately involved with a French courtesan…the most beautiful woman in all of France…or so they said..." Nikolai remembered hearing stories about the woman's beauty, "…raven black hair…opulent green eyes…sculptured, refined features that should have graced the canvas…"

Nikolai suddenly lifted his eyes…seeing the story come together, "…the courtesan became heavy with child and Demetrius – desperate to hide his indiscretion at the time – poisoned the woman in an attempt to make her abort the baby."

You could have heard a pin drop in the room, every breath stilled as he told the story.

"It did not work…as the lady did everything in her power to save the child. Demetrius had long since fled the scene and she birthed his bastard child by herself – no financial help and no medical help – she did not wish to leave a trail by which he could track her down.

"The child was a boy – healthy - save for the horrible scars to the right side of his face as a result of the poisoning…"

It was at this time that Raoul and Phillip both looked at Erik in shocked realization. Erik looked back and dared them to suggest what he knew they were thinking.

"What?" he asked with a sudden flair of anger.

"Who was your mother?" Raoul asked

He lifted his skeptical eyes and gave a stubborn lift of his chin, "I do not see as that information is pertinent to this situation…" his head cocked sideways and his eyes narrowed, "…why?"

"Humor us."

Erik realized the similarities…he wasn't stupid….but it could not be him.

"How old would the boy be now?" Phillip asked.

"Mid-thirties." Nikolai answered.

TBC


	38. Chapter 38 Making Sense of It All

More details. Enjoy. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 38

Well, that had certainly turned out to be an interesting evening.

"Monsieur Lacroix…"

Erik turned to see Phillip approaching him with an exuberant glow in his eyes.

"Monsieur Lacroix, if I could have a moment of your time."

Pleased with the fact that Phillip had ceased calling him "my lord", Erik stood motionless for a few moments, giving the young nobleman pause to arrange his thoughts.

"Please, follow me onto the portico, I wish to ask you something."

Erik tried to hide the amusement in his eyes and the smile that suddenly rested on his lips.

They had been sitting, seemingly watching the grass grow, for what seemed like an hour. Phillip was nervous and did not know what to expect…so he hesitated. Erik, however, did not.

"Do you love her?"

Phillip lifted his relieved eyes and allowed a small, hesitant smile to grace his lips; he let out a huge sigh and relaxed by sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs.

"Yes, my lord, I do love her…very much."

Erik raised his gilded brow, fringed with a warning glare, and stared earnestly at the man who would take Tarrah from him with just a word of encouragement.

"She is only eighteen…you are aware of this…and she is a commoner."

Phillip nodded, than shifted his eyes to regard the man who held his future in his hands.

"I assure you, there is nothing common about her…I am willing to defy my mother – as my father has already given his blessing – and take Tarrah as my wife…after a proper courtship, of course."

"What of her career in the opera house?"

Phillip uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, he had given this much thought.

"Tarrah is free to pursue her career…I have already been named Count de Changy by my father; his title and holdings are mine. I intend to support her career and be whatever she needs me to be in her career as well as run the family like it needs to be run."

Erik put a discerning finger to his lips and cocked his head sideways, giving Phillip a full-on view of his flawless features with just a hint of the mask.

"If my memory serves me correctly, Count, your family was less then thrilled when your brother announced his engagement and subsequent marriage to Mademoiselle Daae…" Erik narrowed his eyes and smirked, "…I am not sure I like the idea of Tarrah being the object of your mother's wicked and prejudicial tongue…I know how she feels about me."

Phillip gave resolute and determined nod of his head and then stood up.

"I assure you, my mother has been put in her place and anything she had to say about the matter has been silenced…as for her attitude toward you, she is the one who is short-sighted and narrow-minded."

Erik stood, assessing the young man with diligent eyes.

"You have my permission and my blessing to court Tarrah…and marry her." Erik responded. "Not that she ever needed it, I am not her father."

Phillip grasped his hand in a firm, strong handshake, and smiled broadly.

"Maybe not physically, sir, but she sees you as such on a spiritual and personal level, and your opinion is very important to her."

If Erik had been the sappy old sentimental fool that he hoped he never became, he would have cried…as it was, he had something in his eyes

"What do you think of Nikolai's theory about your identity?"

Raoul was across from him in the carriage on their way back to Erik's manor. The evening has been unique – for lack of a better word – and Erik had been the surprising winner in most of the hands they had played. He had, however, stopped by the local orphanage on the way home, and given the money to the sisters while Raoul stood by in shocked amusement.

He had told the story to Raoul – although he had been hesitant to do so; but now, Erik sat in the middle of the large four-poster bed he shared with Lavanya and retold it to her. She sat in front of him; her legs curled beneath her and her hands encasing his as he finally revealed his painful childhood to her.

"He must be mistaken…there is no way that my father was a Russian nobleman." Erik insisted. "He was a monstrous man who stood by and had his underlings murder my mother before my very eyes and then he gave me – not sold me – but gave me to the gypsies as though I was of no value whatsoever."

There was a healthy dose of loathing in his voice, but he frowned and softened his tone before continuing.

"Mother would have told me…I know she would have told me if he was someone of any importance."

Anya had heard the rage rising in his voice and knew he was reliving the day when his innocence has been stripped from him with vulgar precision.

"Perhaps she was protecting you, my love…that is what mother's do."

"Protecting me from what?" he murmured, playing his fingers over her hands and concentrating on the ring he had placed on her finger not too long ago.

"Him…and what he was." Anya stated, softly. "Do you remember him, Erik…what he looked like…anything?"

_The trembling boy clung to his mother's safe arms as she ran through the streets – fleeing some unknown, unseen predator. _

_"Do not look back, Erik…just cling to me and keep your eyes closed." _

_He always did what he was told…his mother lauded him on his behavior and was always rewarding him with small gestures of her love for him and her pride in him. _

_She ran for what seemed like hours, but exhaustion finally claimed her as the horsed madman that was chasing them closed in and cornered them in a darkened cove deep in the heart of the city. _

_He was not alone as a carriage pulled up and a black booted, well-dressed man stepped out and tore the leather gloves from his hands as he walked toward her slumped figure. _

_"Bernadette Lacroix…you have been a bad girl…" he spoke in a silky baritone, his heavy accent almost making the words indiscernible "…making my man chase you through the streets like a common whore." _

_He knelt down beside her trembling figure expecting her to cower from him, but he was met with her stunning green eyes instead, looking at him with a loathing that he was all to familiar with. _

_"Of course, we both know you are a whore…just not a common one." _

_He smiled with a sickening beauty – the same beauty of the serpent in the garden when he convinced Eve to partake of the forbidden fruit knowing that it would mean eternal separation from God. _

_"Please…Demi…do not do this…" _

Erik paused for a moment…hearing the pleading voice of his mother as if she were in the room with him - the name she had uttered…_Demi_…a shortened version of Demetrius. His blood ran cold and his eyes hardened; something that did not escape the keen eyes of his wife.

_"Are you going to beg…beg me for your pitiful life and the life of the monster you birthed?" _

_Bernadette held the precious body of her son so tight that she was certain he would suffocate…but she had to protect him from his father. _

_"He is your son…why would you do such a thing?" She pleaded, "His scars are a direct result of your failed attempt to kill him within my womb…Demi…you know this." _

_"I care not…his existence is a thorn in my side…" he reached her cheek and caressed it softly – still amazed by her translucent beauty, "…my wife must never know that I have fathered a son by a whore." _

_He stood abruptly and gave a curt nod to the man on the dark horse. He descended, and three other men emerged from the darkness. _

_Before the hideous events of the night proceeded, he turned to give her one last admiring look. _

_"Her son is my heir…although I doubt he is of my blood." He laughed quite humorlessly and then his face went blank. "Although it is said that the little brat looks just like me." _

_The four men loomed within four feet of her and Demi stopped again, ceasing their advance with his words. _

_"Do not fret, Bernadette, I shall be rid of her too…" he spoke as though referring to a pesky animal that he had no regard for, "…I grow weary of women and their demands." _

_He addressed the leader of the men whose duty it was to rid his life of any and all undesirables – including his wife and his former lovers. _

_"Kill her and do what you wish with the boy…the gypsy camp not far down the road would be thrilled to add another freak to their sideshow." _

_"Yes, Sire." _

_They all bowed as he left them to do his dirty work. _

"They ripped me from her arms and proceeded to rape her repeatedly as I was made to watch…" Erik finally released the memories that had held him prisoner for so many years. "…I remember screaming for her to get up and run…but she did not move…"

Anya had already put her hands to her face as the tears came in droves…flooding her eyes and dousing her cheeks. She knew that he had endured much in his life; but to watch as his mother – who had loved him so very much – was tortured and raped before his young eyes…there were no words.

"…I did not realize until later that they had punctured her womb with some sort of object and she bled to death long before they finished pleasuring themselves with her dead body."

Erik shuddered as though a cold draft had penetrated his clothing.

"They left me there…draped over her lifeless body – screaming for her to wake up and take me home."

He finally lifted his reddened eyes to her, trying to give her a reassuring smile.

"They had slipped up the road and sent the gypsies for me…they showed up only a few minutes later and drug me away from her corpse…" His voice lowered to a sharp whisper, "…the rest is history."

She cradled him in her arms and slowly made love to him…showing him that he was the most desirable and beautiful man she had ever seen.

Her kisses cleansed his fractured soul and mended his torn heart – while her soft, demanding touch and the warm, moist haven of her body melted the cold, sickening knowledge of who he really was…who he had been born to be…

…he was Erik Krystian Demidov by birth, the illegitimate son of Demetrius Demidov – a high-ranking member of Russian nobility - and the man who had single-handedly destroyed his life.

♦♠♥♣

_The next afternoon _

"I did not want to believe it…but Anya listened to my ranting and her love has helped me to face the truth."

Erik had called a meeting of the minds…per say…to help everyone understand what was the current events.

"That makes you his half-brother and a nobleman, does it not?" Phillip injected. "Why is he trying to hurt you…" he paused, "…or worse?"

Erik paced slowly across the stage, as they had decided to meet at the opera house. There were guards posted in the front, the rear, on the roof, and at every entrance that the Phantom had once used – no one was getting in. His hands were tucked behind his back and his movements were graceful and elegant…regal in their beauty.

"It makes me exactly who I have always been…I do not care about nobility and the things that come with it…" the heels of his boots clicked against the floor, creating a monotonous metronome that was set in the beat of everyone's heart. "…I only want my family to be safe…and for once, be able to live a normal life."

"The Russian people and the royal family may not so easily dismiss your noble blood, my friend…you best be ready to claim it." Nikolai advised, "The Demidov estate had been seized pending an investigation of Demetrius' illicit and illegal behavior, and pending the location of a sane and qualified heir."

Erik raised his chin toward heaven and closed his eyes; he would have to cross that bridge when he came to it; for now, he had a lunatic after him – two lunatics – and one of them happened to be his brother.

"They know of his existence then…Yves…" Erik stated – but he was asking for affirmation.

Nikolai nodded, "Yes, they are aware of his existence, but they are also aware of his tendency to be more insane than his father was…and his love of dramatic flair."

"They are looking for him….I assume."

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders and frowned, "He has thwarted all attempts to be taken peaceably…he lives lavishly, spending whatever he has left of the money his father left him, and is rather sloppy with his lifestyle."

"What does he want with Pieter, I wonder?" Erik asked, not expecting an answer.

"Pieter would be nothing more than a plaything to Yves…a dalliance he will soon be rid of."

"A plaything?" Erik countered. "Explain what you mean."

Nikolai pursed his lips and dropped his eyes – avoiding Erik's piercing green gaze.

"His lover…that is what it means…and a means of getting to you, my lord…." Nikolai sighed and continued to speak, "…this is another reason why he is not considered a qualified heir to the Demidov estate…he will not marry; and therefore, there will be no other heirs."

Donning crept into Erik's features, "He wants the estate and me out of the picture so there can be no mistaking whose it is..." Erik began pacing again, but not before he squared his eyes on Nikolai and narrowed them severely, "…do not call me that…I am no one's lord."

Nikolai chuckled and shrugged his shoulders; he did not intend to listen to Erik's cryptic advice.

Raoul stood up from his chair and started pacing in the opposite direction; finding it completely _un_surprising, that Erik was of noble blood.

"It seems that he is a bit too cocky for his own good, he seems to be under the impression that no one knows who he is and that his anonymity will keep him safe…"

Phillip stood up and joined the pacing…leaving the women to stare in amusement at the three of them devising a plan together.

"….yes, and he must be close by or he would not know Erik's every move." Phillip added.

Nikolai clapped his hands together and surged to his feet.

"Of course!" he exclaimed, suddenly forcing everyone's eyes to settle on him, "The whole reason why Demetrius spent time in Paris was his love of the arts; the French being some of the most artistic people he had ever met…" Nikolai joined the pacing, "…he purchased an old building not far from the bustling downtown of Paris, hoping to turn it into a museum or opera house…but his life took a downward spiral before he could complete his dream."

Erik regarded the man with a curious stare, "How do you know so much about my father and the Demidov family?"

Nikolai smiled and bowed his head in a show of honor, "My mother's best friend was the governess for the Demidov family for three generations, until she passed…she knew all their dirty little secrets…and she talked about them often when she visited my family." He winked and shrugged his shoulders, "I had a tendency to eaves drop..." he smiled broadly, "…it is a problem I am working on."

There were a couple of stray chuckles heard, but the conversation soon turned back to the immediate problem.

"I guarantee we will find them both if we determine which building my father purchased…" Erik stated.

"That is easy enough, I will call in a few favors and we should pinpoint the building by tomorrow afternoon."

Phillip was more than happy to be of service to Erik…he was the only suitable heir to the Demidov estate and title, and he was going to be related to him – sort of; in Phillip's eyes, that made for a wonderful business opportunity with a man he could respect….and there were not many that he could.

♣♠♥♦

The gathering has come to a close and Erik was eager to return home. He was patiently waiting on Lavanya to finish her conversation with Christine before he could wisk them both away to the manor.

He heard a woman's high-pitched squeal and turned just in time, as Tarrah threw herself into Erik's arms, almost toppling him over in the process. She reigned kisses over his cheeks and giggled as he stood in stunned shock.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She repeated.

"For what?" he asked with equal fervor.

Phillip approached with a grin on his face.

"Oh…that." Erik mumbled, suppressing his own grin.

Lavanya watched the exchange between them and could not keep the smile from her own face. She grasped Erik's hand and brought it to her mouth for a kiss.

"Christine and Raoul have offered to be our chaperone's on several outings…" Phillip stated, "…that should be sufficient for the gossiping tongues town."

Phillips stood tall and clasped his hands behind his back. His eyes never wavered and his chin was raised high.

"After this is all sorted out, my lord, I hope that you, and your lovely wife, will join my family and me for dinner at the de Chagny estate."

Erik had rolled his eyes and released an exasperated sigh upon hearing the use of "my lord" once again – but Phillip had not faltered.

Lavanya was having a hard time hiding her mirth about his persistent denial of his noble heritage…and Erik could do nothing but shake his head.

"I thought your family – minus yourself and your brother - was rather ambivalent toward me…in fact; they loathe me, if I recall correctly."

"I just want to rub my mother's nose in it, my lord."

If looks could kill, Phillip would be sprawled out on the floor with Erik's "looks" sticking out of his chest.

"Young man, if you are going to persist in calling me 'my lord', I may have to throttle you in ways you have never seen or heard of before…is that clear?"

Phillip smiled, "Perfectly clear…" and then grinned, "…my lord."

TBC


	39. Chapter 39 If Tomorrow Never Comes

A chapter full of loving and facing an unknown future. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 39

After arriving back at the manor, Anya and Tarrah had gone inside while Erik checked on Sumukhi. A part of him still expected D'Ombre's intelligent black eyes and teasing demeanor to greet him upon entering the stable, but he knew it was never going to be…never again; and his heart ached.

The horse was fine and the young girl that Annette had hired was adequately keeping the stable clean and seemed rather dedicated to his work. Erik found it strange that a girl enjoyed that position, but she seemed very pleased to have it.

"If you would like a full-time, permanent position here, I am offering it to you…I think you would make a wonderful stable master."

The young girl was stunned at the offer – most seemed pleased with her work until they found out she was a girl – then they dismissed her.

"We will discuss wages and such at a later date; in the mean time, there is a small cottage on the back of the property, it is yours should you need it; I know you have a sick mother to tend to and nowhere to go."

There were tears in her eyes, but she quickly reached up and wiped them away with a dirty hand.

"Feel free to let me know what items you require to fix it up and make it into a home…I will see to it that they are procured."

Erik turned to leave, but the young girl's quiet voice stopped him, "My lord, your kindness is the first that I have encountered in a very long time."

Erik cringed at the title – again – but he did not correct her.

"You are welcome; now go, gather your things and take the carriage home, it will make it easier to bring your mother back tomorrow."

She scurried off toward the carriage and Erik smiled at her awkward movements. She was somewhere between child and adolescent; in that slip of time where she was not even sure of her own steps…Erik remembered that time very well.

He knew the head groundskeeper was there and would watch the stables, so he left Sumukhi to her sleep and headed back toward the manor; besides, there were undercover guards constantly watching the manor and property, Erik had seen to it.

The house was quiet. Tarrah had gone to her room and Erik breathed a sigh of relief that she was back under his roof – even if it was for a short time.

He turned down all the lights and locked the doors, then headed up the stairs in search of his wife. He walked into their bedroom and caught sight of her sitting at the dressing table combing her silky hair. He smiled as he leaned against the door jam, crossed his legs at the ankles, and locked his arms across his chest.

"I do not think there is a more beautiful sight in all the world." He murmured, catching her eyes in the mirror as she smiled sensually at him.

He slowly ambled over to her, took the brush from her hands, and began brushing her hair – something he had dreamed of doing for many days.

The erotic feel of his hands gliding across her scalp in rhythm with the brush, caused Anya's body to spark with the embers of desire. Her eyes closed as she gave herself over to the sensations shooting through her.

"Mmmmm, that feels so good." She purred.

She leaned back against his hip, allowing him access to her throat. Erik placed the brush on the table and leaned over her, tracing his lips over the column of her throat and sliding his tongue lazily along the ridge of her jaw.

His hands skimmed up the flat plane of her abdomen and cupped her full breasts from behind, while his lips remained fixed on her neck. Her nightdress did little to hinder his onslaught, and he soon had the flimsy material gathered around her waist as he feasted on her bountiful mounds.

He had moved around to the front of the chair, pulled it away from the table so that it was sideways, and proceeded to seduce her with every skilled flicker of his tongue, every feathery shimmer of his fingers, and every velvet touch of his lips.

He moved his hands to the hem of her gown and lifted it, knowing she wore nothing beneath it. He moved his lips to her knees and worshiped them with his wet, warm tongue – licking his way upward as her thighs parted of their own free will.

This was an illicit dream – a page out of a trashy novel – but Anya had never dreamed she would ever know what it felt like…until now. She braced her elbows on the dressing table, drooped one leg over the back of the chair and watched as her husband became intimately familiar with her nether region.

Erik knelt between her trembling thighs and trickled his fingers over her flesh with the finesse learned from years of caressing the piano keys. She moaned as he followed his fingers with his lips – his only desire was to give her pleasure. In fact, he intended to pleasure her until she screamed out his name and forgot her own; until the threat against him was a distant memory and all that was left was their heated bodies lost in a world that existed only to bring them both pleasure.

The insides of her thighs were as soft as rose petals and Erik nibbled gently on their plump readiness; the scent of her was a part of him; in his mind and on his body - and he knew he would never be rid of it - he did not want to be rid of it; the scent of desire…the scent of desire for _him_.

Finally, after she writhed in the chair, he slid up her body, wrapped his tongue around each hardened nipple, and picked her up in his arms. He seized her mouth ferociously as he carried her to the bed. Her legs were wrapped around him as he carried her against him - his large hands cupping her naked backside.

She floated down to the bed as he pulled her hips to the edge and sank down to his knees once again. He was still fully clothed and seemed in no hurry to free the engorged swell of his erection painfully visible against the tight material of his pants.

She parted her thighs and allowed him access once again, not willing to loose the torrid ecstasy of his mouth and hands against her swollen, moist, and aching flesh.

As his deft fingers parted her flesh and his tongue took its first sweep of her sweet nectar, Anya lost all ability to think…she laced her fingers through the dark locks of his hair and gently pushed him against her; moaning pleasurably as he delved deeply into her.

He spread her further with his fingers and then lathed his moist tongue over the swollen nub that promised her sweet oblivion. He had never done this before, but he had certainly dreamed of it after reading extensively on the art of making love.

Long and short, fast and slow – he brought her to a slamming orgasm – tasting every dewy drop of her until she stretched with all the grace of Persian cat and practically purred with sated pleasure.

Erik reclined beside her, unsure of when her gown had been removed; but he loved her naked body lying beside him like his own personal love slave.

It did not take but a moment for Anya to turn the tables to her advantage, grasp his fully clothed, fully extended erection in her hand, and begin a slow, steady rhythm that had him snuggling into her hand – eager to find his own release.

She slowly unclasped his pants and struggled to push them down and over his more than ample manhood. Erik obliged by lifting his hips and giving her easier access to his backside; before long, he was fully exposed, proudly erect and beautifully awaiting her command.

She began at his chest, faintly skimming her tongue over his taut nipples and enjoying the rapturous hiss that he did not even try to contain.

She then moved down his soft-skinned, perfectly toned abdomen...she fluttered kisses upon it with such tenderness, that it felt like butterfly wings against his flesh. She delved into the depths of his belly button and could not help but give his tantalizing erection an admiring gaze as she slowly worked her way down to it.

The softness of his skin was in direct contrast to the hard, pulsing demand of the erect flesh that beckoned her with a blushed head. She kissed the downy hair of his abdomen and lathed her tongue over the sensitive flesh atop his hip and pelvic bone - purposefully avoiding his pulsing cock.

She teased him with her tongue and Erik spasmed against her mouth - his body wracked with sensual tremors. She had still not taken his hardness in her mouth or hand, but Erik could feel his own orgasm building.

"Woman...you will be the death of me..." He uttered - his voice coming out like a hoarse whisper.

"Death by sex...sounds like a good way to go." She teased back, and finally glazed her tongue along the upper ridge of his sex.

His head moved from side to side and his hands found her head as she encased his hardness in her mouth; taking his entire length within her warmth.

The moans he let out made Lavanya's body answer with a warm pool of moisture and ready itself for their mating. She moaned deep in her throat, causing the sensation to dance upon his flesh and make him buck against her.

She felt him swelling inside her mouth, and knew he would soon climax…she needed his seed to release deep within her.

Erik must have read her mind and ripped her mouth from his hard staff to bring her beneath him in one quick move; he reached between their pulsing bodies and rubbed the moist surface of her core with the throbbing length of his manhood – teasing her sleek petals to the point of sweet torture.

"Are you ready for me, my love?" he purred into her ear, teasing her by delving the hot, thick head of his erection into her weeping flesh.

To answer him, she wrapped her long legs around his waist and lifted her hips, impaling herself on his hard staff.

Erik shuddered as she buried his length deep within her – and begged him for more. He felt a swell of masculine pride, knowing that his body was the only one she had known…she had saved herself for him.

He withdrew his length, and she moaned in protest; he smirked dangerously and slammed back into her…causing her cry out with staggering whelps of pleasure.

He seized her mouth, conquering her with his swirling tongue as she yielded to him with wanton abandonment. A strangled moan escaped her lips as his skilled mouth slanted over hers and his thick staff pierced her with a reckless, sweet torture that made her body swim with sensations she had never known before.

He pounded into her with a driving force that rivaled a thunderstorm, sending shock waves of pleasure shooting through her – piercing her deeply within her womb.

Her orgasm shot through her with no mercy as Erik relentlessly drove into her until her muscles coaxed his rock-hard staff with such inviting and exquisite pressure, that he poured himself into her – stroke after stroke until he was spent.

Still holding him within her, she rolled atop him, kissed his chest, and then gently moved her lips over his.

"I love you." She whispered, after releasing his lips. "Something tells me that your baby will grow within me because of tonight."

Erik pulled back and looked her deeply in the eyes. A smile began formed on his mouth that was unlike any she had ever seen on him, and a single, silver tear trickled down his perfect cheek.

"I never thought any woman would ever want to make love with me, let alone have my baby." He kissed her forehead and hugged her to him, "In a matter of weeks, you have made all my dreams come true."

There were tears in his eyes as he claimed her mouth in a tender kiss full of all the love he felt within his heart…love he would never fail to show her every day for the rest of their lives.

♣♠♦♥

Life took on a whole new meaning a few days later when an almost fully recovered Mr. Gibbs answered the door to find Raoul and Phillip standing in the pouring rain.

"Erik asked us to come by - said it was an urgent matter - is he in?"

Mr. Gibbs nodded solemnly and showed them into the study. A few minutes later, Erik strode into the room with a nod of his head and a friendly greeting on his lips.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming." Erik stated, "Where is Nikolai?"

"He had some urgent business come up in his family, so he had to go back to Russia; but he did confirm the information that you gave me to give to him."

Erik moved further into the room and immediately went over to the large, carved mahogany desk. He leaned over it and retrieved a letter from the middle drawer, then he sat down upon the surface – one foot dangling, and the other fixed firmly on the floor.

He had a straightforward look on his exposed features and a stern set to his full mouth, he looked every inch the nobleman they now knew him to be.

Erik once again scanned the written contents with a scowl draped over his handsome features. Raoul approached him and looked at the letter from Erik's extended hand, eyeing him warily before taking it from him.

"I received this letter today…by messenger."

Raoul immediately recognized Pieter's handwriting and an icy chill crept up his spine.

"I can think of only one advantage that we have – he does not expect us to be communicating in any way – as far as he knows, we cannot stand each other." Erik noticed that the brothers both agreed, "I am not obtuse enough to believe that Yves remains unaware of my knowledge of who he is and our shared blood."

Raoul looked back down at the letter and read aloud;

**_"Erik, _**

**_Have I hurt you enough, my love? He was a beautiful animal, to be sure…but then, so are you. I wish it could have been me that administered the pain, Erik…I wish I could have seen your face and watched the love you had for him become so visible…you will soon give that love to me." _**

Raoul had to pause and swallow the bile that threatened to come up…he gave a quick, sorrowful look at Erik and continued.

**_"Your staff was supposed to die – every one of them – but you came home early, you sly dog, and surprised me before I could finish the job. _**

**_You taught me, Erik…you taught me to be an elegant misfit…just like you. You are too good for them…too beautiful. I will give you the love you seek if you will come back to me. _**

**_They are all just playing with you; they laugh at you behind your back and call you a monster; but they whore after your talents and feed off your brilliance like vultures on a rotting carcass. _**

**_I believe there is an orphanage in town that you are rather fond of; be there tomorrow night at 9' o'clock. If you do not come, the orphanage – and all within it – will be dispensed with – as proficiently and effortlessly as the hospital was dispensed with. _**

**_There is also the matter of your quite lovely, unobtainable wife. I have seen you look at her, but she will never love you - only I can do that. She is as deceptive and betraying as all women are. She has even befriended that witch from the opera house, the one who once owned your heart. _**

**_I watched them; walking through the city with not a care in the world. The witch's husband was having them watched – closely – or I would have cut out their lying, deceiving hearts - I will do that for you, my love; then your heart will belong only to me.  
_**

**_You will come to me, beneath the orphanage, tomorrow night at _****_9 o'clock_****_. The fates of those children, the nuns, and your wife are in your hands. _**

**_Pieter" _**

Erik cleared his throat as soon as he saw Raoul look up from the letter and crease his brow with concern.

"After reading it, I was ill for a good hour...he has no conscience and will easily and without remorse, carry though on his threat."

Erik was slightly taken aback when Raoul clenched his fists and let out a guttural growl; fury rampant in his eyes and racing unhindered through his veins.

"I should have killed him two years ago…when I had the opportunity."

Erik scoffed and stood up with all the lithe grace of a jungle cat.

"Killing another human being should always be a matter of life and death…I would that you never have to live with another person's blood on your hands..." Erik stated, then looked at Phillip and nodded, "…or you."

Raoul appraised Erik's dogged profile; the words he had just spoken were rife with resolve and timeless wisdom.

"How many…Erik…." Raoul choked, afraid of the answer, "…how many have you killed?"

Dark, solemn eyes closed gradually…and Raoul was certain there was moisture forming in the corners beneath sable lashes.

"Too many…and each one took a piece of my soul to the grave with him."

Erik remained quiet, but his eyes searched the room for nothing in particular. He finally walked over to where Raoul and Phillip were sitting and took the chair across from them.

"This will end with a death – perhaps several; one or both of theirs…and, quite possibly, mine."

That simply would not do; Raoul and Phillip both whipped their eyes to Erik's somber features.

"I have taken the liberty of contacting the police concerning this matter…" Erik chuckled quietly as he remembered their quick response and eagerness to help him…now that he was a rather successful composer and legitimate business man. "…we have never been on the best of terms; but they appreciate my work and agreed to help."

"Even with their help, do you still think there will be bloodshed or death?"

Erik sighed in frustration, swept his hand through his hair, and rubbed his forehead – trying to hold off the burgeoning ache that was beginning to throb at his temples.

"I am not going to say that it will not happen, but I will do my best to avoid it." He replied with frustrated patience and a slight smile.

"What do you think Yves will be doing while Pieter is meeting you at the orphanage?" Phillip questioned.

The hand that had swept through his hair and rubbed his forehead, now fiddled with the edge of his mask…the itching was becoming intolerable and he longed to remove it.

"He is the only player in this wretched game that bothers me."

Raoul frowned, "Why is that?"

"I do not know him." Erik stated simply. "I am not familiar with him at all, which makes him unpredictable and twice as dangerous."

Phillip and Raoul understood his meaning and agreed with him. Where did that leave them?

"What is Lavanya going to be going during this entire time…I know she will not stand by and let you walk head first into what could be a trap?"

Erik frowned and closed his eyes in thought; when next he opened them, they were full of regret and shame.

"She will not know - none of them will – Anya, Tarrah, Christine, or Annette." Raoul and Phillip leaned in at the mention of the their respective loves, "The only way to keep all of them out of this and out of harms way is to have them locked up – well protected – guarded by the police."

"You cannot be serious?" Raoul laughed, thinking Erik had finally slipped off the edge of sanity.

"I am quite serious…" Erik stated with a smirk, "…I will make it look real enough….by the time they are hauled away, the whole of Paris will be convinced I have finally lost my mind; and Pieter and Yves will think they have the upper hand."

Completely shocked, Phillip and Raoul could not even speak.

"The police are already in agreement and the plan is underway…tomorrow afternoon, at the opera house – where we will all be – they will be arrested for conspiracy to commit murder."

"Murder!?" They both shouted.

"Yes…the murder of my staff and me…" Erik explained, "...for the sake of the ruse, I have revealed to the police what I believe to be proof of their intent to murder me…but they wanted to start with my staff and then decided to slaughter my horse when I was not there to feed their bloodlust."

"This is madness, Erik…the women will be distraught." Raoul emphasized; anxiety written all over his features.

Erik nodded and put their minds at rest, "They will be told the real reason for their confinement, as soon as they are confined."

The full plan was quickly spelled out for them, and both men agreed that it sounded best and would keep the women out of harms way - from the sound of it, Pieter already had his heart set on hurting or killing Lavanya and possibly Christine. There was not need to take chances.

"I must admit, I like that better than having them sit in a jail cell...I will meet them there and try to calm them." Phillip stated.

Erik leaned in to both men and spoke in a hushed tone – his masked features wrought with concern and need. He handed a sheet of paper to Raoul and folded his hand together in front of him as though in prayer.

"If this goes bad, I will need you contact Anya's brother in Egypt, his name is Sharad Keshav, let him know what happened…" Erik waited for Raoul to read the paper and then continued, "…Everything is hers – all that I have – including whatever claims I have in Russia, should she choose to claim them – there have also been provisions made should she be with child."

At that thought, Erik felt a deep sadness overtake him, he longed to see her swell with his child and watch her nurse him at her breast – but Erik had to face the reality that he may not come out of this alive.

"The paperwork is in order with my solicitor, and already signed – it takes affect immediately upon my death."

Erik looked up into the stoic face of Raoul, who sat back in his chair as though in shock - not ready to face his unconsolable wife and definitely not wanting to face Lavanya should Erik not emerge from this with his life.

Erik, aware of the conflict Raoul was engaged in, urged him again.

"Promise me, Raoul."

Raoul looked at the paper and than back at Erik, "Of course, you have my word."

Erik looked at Phillip.

"I will need you to promise me that you will love and take care of Tarrah…that she will want for nothing and that she will always be your top priority."

Phillip gave his affirming nod, "You have my word."

TBC


	40. Chapter 40 I Will Love You, Forever

This was a difficult chapter to write...I hope it is feasible and realistic. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 40

There was an exigency to his love making that night; an urgency and tenderness that had Anya crying out his name for the greater part of the night; his mouth, hands, and body seemed unable to be quenched.

The pounding of their hearts and the racing of their blood was almost audible as they lay in each other's arms. Erik absently stroked her soft arm with his fingers and allowed silent tears to caress his cheeks.

He had thought her asleep, until she pulled up and looked down at him.

"What is it Erik…you have been so melancholy tonight?"

He smiled, hoping she saw the happiness he felt within his heart, twinkling within the green ocean of his tears, "I just…" he stared and then looked away, "…just remember, no matter what happens…" his eyes spoke every word as did his mouth, "…that I love you more than life itself."

She knew he spoke the truth; and yet, there was something he was not saying. His eyes held a darkness – a shadowed sorrow – that she had never seen before; what had happened that he was not sharing…why did the dark cloud of doom seem to hang over him?

"Tell me." She urged.

He held her tighter and kissed the top of her head as she settled down upon his chest once again.

"Please, Anya…just trust that I do what I must…alright?"

Although the pain in her heart was almost more than she could bear, she had to give him her trust – her faith – and somehow let him know that she would always be there for him.

"Of course I trust you."

♦♠♥♣

_The Next Afternoon_

"What is the meaning of this?!!" Annette spewed, resisting the hand that gently led her down the long aisle.

Shock and fury mixed with large helpings of disbelief and confusion were written all over the faces of the four women as they were escorted out the front of the opera house and into a barred carriage.

"What is he thinking?"

Christine was flabbergasted; she could not understand the look in Erik's eyes as they paraded past him. He had seemed cold and indifferent; suddenly, he was the Phantom all over again.

_The rehearsal had gone better than expected; everyone was there. Raoul and Christine had come upon special invitation – supposedly from Erik Lacroix himself. _

_"Where is Erik…I have not seen him all night?" Tarrah asked, looking around the theater for him. _

_"I have no idea. He assured me he would be here, but he had some business to tend to." _

_Lavanya had only been in the opera house one other time, but had never been in the actual theater part. It was extraordinary! She was anxious for Erik's play to open and she wanted to stand by his side as all of _ _Paris__ lauded him for his accomplishments. _

_Annette had just finished her last minute instructions and was spending a few minutes in Richard's company. They had decided to start courting and upon her acceptance, he had become a most attentive suitor. _

_"They are so cute together…I am so glad that love does not stop simply because you reach a certain age." Lavanya cooed. _

_Tarrah shook her head in agreement and giggled as Richard bent down and placed a soft kiss upon Annette's upturned nose. _

_"Meg left a couple of days ago…did you know that?" _

_Lavanya turned toward her and frowned, "Left…where did she go?" _

_"She asked if she could move to the opera house in _ _London__ – the one that Erik and I used to be with..._ _Hammond__ offered her a tremendous deal to come and be their lead dancer." _

_"I am happy for her…she has been wanting to leave _ _Paris__ for some time…from what I understand." _

_Tarrah lifted her brow and shrugged her shoulders, "Yes, I believe she has…but she did not want to leave her mother…but with Richard not far from a proposal, I think she made a wise move." _

_From the back of the stage, police swarmed the area, forcing their way through the chorus and lines of dancers to make their way to the front. _

_"Madam Annette Giry, Viscountess Christine de Chagny, Mademoiselle Tarrah Sheldon, and Madam Lavanya Lacroix..." _

_All four women lined up in a row; backs straight, chins high, and fear in their eyes. It was not until they saw the tall, elegant figure of Erik standing just inside the perimeter of the stage that they began to panic. _

_"…you are all under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder." _

_For a few moments, there was not a sound. _

_"You have got to be jesting?" Tarrah protested. "We have done no such thing." _

_"Who brings these charges against us?" Annette countered; every moment that she stood there, she was growing angrier. _

_"I do." _

_Erik spoke firmly and loudly – making all eyes focus on him. _

_Lavanya looked deeply into his eyes – and she saw it…the uncertainty and the sorrow. He did not want to be doing this. _

_"We will sort this all out, Monsieur Lacroix, I assure you." The man in charge stated. _

_Erik nodded and then watched each of them as they were hauled away like common criminals. _

The carriage was comfortable enough, but each woman was lost in her own thoughts.

"Something is not right…Erik would never do this." Tarrah pointed out; but then her eyes turned doubtful, "Why would he do this?"

There were not answers, but shrugging shoulders and nodding heads. Lavanya finally wiped the tears from her eyes as the carriage came to stop in front of…

"...Chateau la Broughton….why are we stopping here?" Christine asked in a very small voice.

The doors opened and several young men escorted them out of the carriage and into the private castle.

The large, baroque doors opened and Mr. Tibbs greeted them with a looming smile.

"Welcome ladies….it will be my pleasure to serve you during your stay with us."

They all looked at each other, more baffled than ever. They proceeded into the castle and noticed that each door was guarded by two armed men.

Upon entering the drawing room, Phillip greeted them with a broad smile, but strained eyes.

"Phillip….what is going on?" Tarrah questioned upon seeing the look on his face.

He nodded and indicated for all the women to sit.

"I know that this all seems rather dramatic, but it was the only way that he could be certain of your safety."

He spoke to them all, but his eyes focused on Lavanya…she knew that Erik was aware of her desire to help him, and he had taken precautionary measure.

"Why the humiliating arrest scheme?" Annette asked, raising her brow and barely containing her anger.

"Would you have come willingly?" Phillip countered, without an once of shame.

No one said a word and eyes dropped in guilty confession.

"I thought not."

He eyed each of them, careful not to spend too much time on any of them for fear of being reduced to ash. He left the room to tend to instructing the servants. The women sat quietly in a state of stunned shock, until Lavanya broke the silence and stood up, slowly pacing the floor.

"This is what he met last night…asking me to trust him." Lavanya had never felt so alone, "He made the most tender, beautiful love to me and then made me promise to trust him."

All four of them had tears rolling down their faces. As Lavanya sunk to the floor, Christine and Tarrah captured her arms. Annette moved in front of her and tried to console her.

"He knows what he is doing; he has faced far more formidable foes in his time."

Lavanya clutched her heart and held the deep groan that she felt rising her throat.

"I know he has, but he never had so much at stake."

"Anya, what did he say to you…last night?"

Lavanya looked at Christine; they had become close friends, and the fact that Erik and Lavanya had finally consummated the relationship gave her joy...but she also knew that Lavanya was feeling anything but joyous at this time.

"He did not say anything in particular…it was more in the way he acted and…felt."

They knew what she was evading to and none of them was shocked – they wanted to know about this side of a man who had once thought himself beyond such passionate love.

Before anything else could be said, a loud, resounding knock penetrated the heavy oak of the door.

Tarrah rushed to the door and threw it open, hoping it was Erik on the other side.

Mr. Tibbs, knowing her disappointment, smiled forlornly and walked into the room carrying a tray of light refreshments and tea.

"Lord Erik made sure that all the necessary refinements are at your disposal. He stocked the place himself – just a couple of days ago…he will be beyond consoling if I fail in my duties and one of you loses even an ounce of weight while in my care."

Tarrah blinked at him in complete amazement.

"You knew about this, and did not tell anyone?"

Mr. Tibbs, although he chuckled in amusement, feigned no guilt.

"As it is Lord Erik that employed me, it is Lord Erik that pays me and Lord Erik that risks all that he has to bring the man to justice who would have murdered me…then it is Lord Erik's confidence that I shall be keeping." He nodded to each of them as he poured tea. "Good day, ladies."

They watched him leave, all of them feeling thoroughly lashed.

♠♦♣♥

Silky strands of long abandoned cobwebs hung delicately from various places and the air was dank and murky.

Giant pillars of stone jutted out in regular intervals, showing no sign of crumbling beneath the eternal load of the structure they supported.

Sunlight had not touched this ground for centuries, and the stillness that hung in the air was witness enough to that truth.

Meticulously dropping one quiet foot in front of the other, Erik made his way through the thick darkness; the waning flickers of his torch seeming to cut the darkness like a knife.

His instincts were on alert and the severity of the situation did not escape him. Ever since he had received the letter, he had been having the orphanage watched – no one of any significance had come or gone – not even Pieter. Had he decided to leave without a fight? Erik doubted that, and was aware that there could still be something or someone down here.

Although the torch shined a limited light on his path, there was a great deal of darkness; and that made him slightly nervous. He had maneuvered well in his lair with little light, but he knew the area - this was unfamiliar to him.

Erik kept his sharp eyes alerted to every vague image he was able to make out that extended past the realm of his light; more than anything, he used his attuned sense of hearing.

The only peculiar sound was coming from about fifty paces to his right. He turned to head in that direction. The closer he drew to it, the more it sounded like a creaking board, groaning with the weight of a burden it carried.

The reaching fingers of his lantern's light could not see anything out of the ordinary. He turned in a slow circle, straining his eyes to see into the heavy darkness.

"I grow tired of games, Pieter…show yourself."

His back collided into a large object and he immediately turned his lantern toward the obstacle. Erik backed away from the sight before him; as a mocking voice sent a sickening shiver up his spine.

"What a pity he could not be here to enjoy this moment in your arms, as he had so hoped."

Pieter's hung body slowly rocked back and forth…causing the rope to whine beneath his dead weight. Erik could not take his eyes from the look of stark terror on the dead man's face; Pieter had not expected what had come to him.

The deep, heavily accented voice pierced the darkness long before a tall, distinguished looking man emerged and stood just inside Erik's line of vision.

"Yves."

He stepped forth from the shadows, struck a match, and lit his cigarette and a candle; Erik moved his lantern to that area; the light focused on the dangling form not two feet from where Yves stood.

The man laughed and moved a few steps closer. Daunting dark eyes drilled into Erik's features, not missing any details.

"Yes, I am flattered that you know who I am…" he smiled deviously at the dead corpse, "…it was quite a fight the young boy put up…I did not think he had it in him."

Disgusted with the lack of remorse in Yves' voice and the grotesque display of heartlessness, Erik found it hard to play the part of detached killer.

"You certainly saved me the trouble…but why kill him…he was your pawn in this sick game."

Yves threw up his arms in a loud scoff and then leveled malevolent eyes on Erik.

"I expected more from you, brother…your skills in the art of death are legendary." He gave a mocking clap of his hands as Erik lifted his chin and creased his brow, "Oh yes, I have enjoyed studying you over the last few years."

He paused to study Erik's reaction and continued answering the question.

"Pieter lost sight of my mission…his desire was to keep you as his pet…"

Erik shivered at the loathing he heard in Yves' tone. He had yet to determine why this man hated him so much…they did not even know each other.

"…I have no such intentions….he was of no further use to me."

"You have me at a disadvantage…you seem to know a great deal about me, but I did not know you existed until a few days ago." Erik admitted.

Yves laughed – filling the cellar with his odious mirth.

"Father made sure that I knew about you…he never ceased about the stories of my bastard brother whose face was so hideous that only the gypsies had a place for him."

Erik narrowed his infuriated eyes and inhaled deeply. He released the breath slowly, trying to calm the rage boiling in his blood.

"I would listen to him tell of his beautiful courtesan and the child she bore him…he bragged about his attempt on your life within the womb – but how much more fitting it was for you to live life in a form that no one but your mother could love."

Yves was slowly circling Erik's poised body; scrutinizing every inch of him from head to foot.

"But it seems to me that you cut a striking figure, brother…despite father's depraved attempt to kill you…"

Yves smiled with no humor and began pacing in a circle once again. The creaking of the board that supported Pieter's body was becoming incessantly annoying.

"…what a foolish boy he was, loving you as he did."

Erik lifted his chin and dropped his eyes; the last thing he needed to talk about was Pieter's affections for him.

There was something that Erik sensed about Yves…something primal and base; the man was a skilled killer – maybe as skilled as Erik was – but he had one thing that made him very dangerous…

Insanity.

And, not just any insanity – but diabolical, criminal insanity.

Yves snarled at Erik's expression,

"Do not assume that I am insane, brother…indeed, I am quite sane…it is a conscience that I lack."

Erik was growing impatient; nothing was going as he had planned. His sources had assured him that no one had entered the orphanage since since yesterday afternoon, that means that Yves had been here, murdered Pieter, and remained here - just to kill Erik. Pieter had been dead for at least a day by the condition of his body.

"What do you want, Yves…my claim to our father's vast estate and title…." Erik saw the flinching movement of Yves' eyes and knew that was exactly what he wanted. "…and me…dead…out of the way?"

Yves verbalized nothing, but Erik knew that was precisely what he wanted.

"Well…_brother_….here is the strange fact…I do not want it; none of it - you can have it all without contest." Erik announced.

Yves raised his impertinent brow and scoffed.

"You do not want _any_ of it?"

Erik smirked smugly and shook his head.

Yves straightened his shoulders and released a short, humorous chuckle.

"I believe that means that we have reached an impasse."

Erik gave a curt nod and smiled with equal malevolence.

"Yes…you still want me dead and I have determined that I would like _you_ dead…" Erik growled, "…I believe that is the _only_ way that I would like you."

"Touché." Yves stated.

They studied each other with bruising stares and stubborn curiosity. Erik felt an unusual stirring in his heart – one that cried within him. This man was his only blood relative…they shared a troubled and abusive past dominated by a monstrous father whose only love in life had been himself.

"We can go our separate ways, Yves…you can have all the fortune that father left and his title – I will continue to live the life I have at last been granted…we need never see each other again."

For a moment, Erik thought Yves was going to agree, but in a matter of seconds, his face went rigid and his movements became tense.

"You delude yourself it you think I can do such a thing…I killed our father, Erik…" Yves admitted, "…I drove a knife through his black heart." His insidious laughter chilled Erik's spine and his empty, sinister eyes drilled into him, "…only to discover that mine is blacker."

For a brief moment, Erik saw lucidity and regret in Yves' eyes – but only for a moment.

"I have been on the run ever since – searching for you. If you die, they will have no choice but to give me my inheritance; but while you breathe, they will favor you."

He pulled a pocket revolver from his waistcoat and began his methodical, circulatory pacing once again.

Erik tensed at the sight of the gun; the only weapons he had on him were two rapier daggers; and in this faint lighting, he was unsure of his aim.

Taking another life was something Erik did not take lightly; especially when that life was the only blood relation he had in the world.

The only way that Erik had any advantage at all was to send them into darkness. He dropped his lantern, immediately extinguishing the flame and casting him into the shadows where Yves' candlelight could not reach.

"I did not take you for a coward, Erik…"

"I am not a coward…I am simply regulating the playing field."

Yves did not look so confident with Erik out of sight, but still within the immediate area. He fired a shot into the dark spaces…toward the area where Erik had last been and waited for the proverbial grunt that indicated his shot had fired true…but none came.

However, it the few moments after he fired, Erik had somehow gotten close enough to him to throw a large amount of dirt at the candle Yves carried, extinguishing his source of light and casting them both into utter darkness.

A loud curse resounded through the chamber and Yves threw the useless candle on the ground. He was mumbling, incoherently, but finally raised his voice to pinpoint his adversaries whereabouts.

"It is nothing personal, Erik…understand this…I think we could have been like brothers under different circumstances…."

His voice sounded desperate, but Erik wanted to believe his words with all his heart. How different his life would have been if he had been given the chance to know his brother and love him.

"…it is just good business for me to take away any competition that comes between me and what I want."

"This is not a matter of business, Yves…this is blood….our blood." Erik's melodic baritone echoed back.

Yves searched frantically in the dark for some idea of where Erik was standing. A part of him was proud that his brother was a worthy opponent; but he was growing irritated with the chase.

They both heard them at the same time; a thunderous banging coming from the large door.

"Monsieur Lacroix….are you in there?"

The deafening thud of their fists against the door and the raised voices only seemed to amuse Yves…his putrid laugh filled Erik's ears once more. A malicious eeriness filled the air as a moment of dead silence enveloped them; but to Erik…there was no such thing as complete silence. He heard Yves' breathing and the steady shuffle of his booted feet through the tiny rocks and various items that littered the ground beneath their feet.

"Ahhh, it seems we have company….are they here for you, or for me?"

Although the very sound of Yves' voice chilled his blood, Erik used it to pin-point Yves' location and moved to stand only inches behind him.

Using instincts honed years ago, Erik thrust himself against the man's body, grabbing the extended arm, which held the gun, and forcing the gun to fall with a loud thud to the ground.

The resounding grunts of the battering ram against the door seemed to have little affect on the two men as they pounded each other to the ground and fought like two caged animals.

"Erik!"

Raoul's commanding voice carried well through the thickness of the wall, and Erik almost smiled to himself upon hearing the authoritative tone.

Erik had engaged in his share of hand-to-hand brawls, he had learned at a very early age to defend himself. Although Yves was familiar with fist fighting, he was no match for Erik. They were equally matched in cunning and wit; but Erik had skills in combat that Yves could only dream of having and a body resembling a Greek statue. They wrestled on the ground, in the dingy, faint, lighting - bludgeoning each other with fists that felt like solid stone.

One last resounding bang again the large door, and it was ripped away. The police forged their way into the damp, musky area with their lanterns illuminating the darkness as they drew closer to their target.

Yves used the diversion to frantically search for the revolver, but he had no luck. Erik's right fist pummeled his left cheek and then connected with his gut, causing Yves to spit blood.

The last kick in the dirt had uncovered the revolver and Yves threw himself at it, covering it with his body. Erik, having not seen the revolver, thrust his weight upon Yves, hoping to pin him to the ground.

They wrestled with the gun; Erik trying to keep it pointed downward and away from him while Yves threw insults and curses and tried to point the gun at Erik.

Both men fought as though the devil was on their shoulder – the revolver wrestled in Yves' hands while Erik forced it away from his body. Erik's mask had long since been dislodged, and Yves was tiring of the physical struggle rather quickly. Erik out maneuvered him and was a skilled assassin – Yves was nothing but determined.

Although the police had yet to actually find them, they shouted through the darkness, stating their main purpose for coming.

"Lord Yves Demidov, by the authority of the Russian Royal family, you are hereby charged with the murder of Lord Demetrius Demidov.…."

His laugh made everyone cringe, including Erik. Blood was now tickling down Yves' shirt, and the lust for death had settled in his dark, empty eyes.

"…I suppose that means they are here for me." He growled – answering his previous question.

Raoul raced forward as he saw the revolver in Yves' hand…but it all happened so fast that there was no way to stop it. Two shots went off in quick succession, and Erik realized he had plunged one of his daggers into the Yves' heart. His brother's blood covered his hands as life left him. Erik stood to his feet and felt the bile fill his throat – as it always did when he killed.

"Erik…" Raoul reached him and smiled wearily, "…I am sorry it took us so long to get here."

Erik slowly nodded; feeling physically drained and strangely cold…he had not wanted it to end like this.

"He killed Pieter…" Erik pointed in the direction of the body, "…please see that the boy has a proper burial."

His hazy eyes looked up to see Raoul examining him – a look of pure terror on his face.

"Erik, there is blood all over you!"

Erik looked down at this shirt, "It must be Yves'…"

The words halted in his mouth as his legs gave out and his eyes drifted shut - Raoul rushed forward to capture his collapsing form.

"Erik?!" Raoul shouted.

No response.

"Erik…talk to me." He demanded.

His eyes stirred open, no focus – no light, but they were open.

"I am so cold…" Erik murmured as trembling waves wracked his body.

His eyes did not want to stay open and he could not feel his body – he felt numb all over; but somehow…he was no longer weary of death…it seemed to welcome him now; perhaps he had finally earned his place.

"I think he shot me…" Erik choked, trying to smile – but the sweet light of heaven was coming to claim him.

Raoul was urging him to stay awake…urging him to keep his eyes open and his mind active…

"Tell her…" Erik thrust the words from a throat that no longer wished to work, "…that I will love her…" he smiled as his eyes closed – no longer able to stay open, "…forever."

TBC


	41. Chapter 41 A Matter of Urgency

My beta, Mlle.Fox, is on vacation for the next couple of weeks...so this chapter - and the last remaining chapters - will not be proofed by her; so I must apologize ahead of time for any mistakes that are made. If you point them out to me, I will fix them.

Onward we go.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 41

Raoul was not sure what he was going to say or how he was going to say it. The events of the night had been cleared up and arrangements had been made…but he was left with a daunting task.

The thirty-minute carriage ride to the Chateau la Broughton seemed like an eternity and to make the night even more dismal, the rain was pounding against the night sky with a ferocious heaviness that left little visibility for the driver.

After they had removed the bodies, Raoul sat alone in the stillness, wondering what he could have done differently…where had it all gone so wrong?

They had taken Erik first, and Raoul had considered going with them; however, there was nothing more he could have done.

Now, as he stood in front of the beautiful fortress that Erik had rented for the women he loved…Raoul felt heavy of heart and sad of spirit; what waited behind that door was grief…and Raoul was not sure he was ready to face it.

♦♥♠♣

"Come now, Lavanya, you need to get some rest."

Annette was on her way to bed, when she happened to look into the sitting room and see Lavanya gently rocking back and forth on the over-stuffed divan…barely holding the tears back.

She sat beside her, hoping to guide the young woman to her room and get her to settle down.

"I will not sleep without him by my side, Annette…it cannot be done."

The frown that furrowed Annette's brow as she spoke, told Lavanya that she was also feeling the uncharacteristic dismay that seemed to have invaded them from the inside.

"I never thought I could miss one person so much in all my life…but I find that I am not even a complete being without him."

Annette rubbed her back in a motherly fashion and silently shook her head in agreement. Was Erik aware of how much this woman loved him? She prayed that he was.

"Come child, I am sure we will know more in the morning."

Lavanya started to protest, but was silenced by the crestfallen figure of Raoul standing just inside the door.

His eyes said it all.

Instead of collapsing to the floor, as he had expected, she held his gaze with eyes that suddenly seemed far older than she really was. She grasped his hands in a solid grip, her hands as cold as ice.

"I will know everything…everything, Raoul…spare me no details."

Her voice was wrought with unshed tears, but she refused to give into anything as permanent and absolute as grief.

"Lavanya, I do not think…."

"I must know…" she whispered, feeling a lump of dread gather in her throat, "…here and now."

He nodded slightly, closing his eyes to the searing sorrow he saw buried in her gaze.

Annette had sat down cautiously on the divan and covered he mouth with her hand. Her tears flowed freely and her quiet sobs drove a wedge into Lavanya's crumbling heart; without being told...she knew that Erik was gone.

It was her quiet sobs that drew Tarrah and Christine to the room and upon seeing Raoul and Lavanya's beleaguered expressions…they both turned from the room, covered their faces with their hands and wept.

It was some moments later that the women listened to Raoul explain what he knew to be the events of the evening.

"Erik had already been shot twice, when he pierced Yves' heart with his rapier dagger." Raoul stated. "He was unaware of this, until he had lost too much blood and his body just…gave up."

Lavanya, although trembling from the shock, looked Raoul square in the eyes and demanded his attention.

"He did not die alone…" she said beneath her breath – shaking her head in denial; she finally spoke louder; demanding an answer, "…please tell me he was not alone in the dark."

Raoul went to his knee, grasped her hand in his, and held it to his bowed forehead in an act of humility.

"No, my lady, he was in my arms…I caught him as he collapsed."

It was at that moment she gave way to the consuming pain in her heart and voiced the agony that had taken root in her soul.

"Erik...my love."

She whispered his name…the beauty of it was like a prayer upon her lips. She raised her mournful eyes and did not waver in her next request.

"I must see him…I want to see my husband."

"Lavanya…"

"I must, Raoul…" she stood firm with tears searing her cheeks, "...I simply must."

She stared him down, determined sorrow in her vivid green eyes.

"Very well, I will send the messenger and let the coroner know."

Lavanya thanked him, and sank to the floor - her legs no longer able to support her. She accepted the comforting arms of Tarrah and Christine...but knew that the only arms she longed to feel would no longer protect her - no longer carry her to worlds beyond this one in the quiet moments when love was the only language they needed.

Erik was dead - how would she ever live again?

♣♦♥♠

The messenger was sent on his way – and Raoul hoped to hear back from him in the next hour or so. Lavanya needed closure, and hopefully seeing Erik would bring that to her.

He had never felt so utterly devoid of energy in his entire life. He held Christine while she wept for her lost mentor…

….no, Erik was more than that to her…he was a lost love. Raoul knew that if her heart had been free at the time, she would have loved Erik in the same manner that she loved him…but now, having known the man that Erik was, that thought no longer vexed him.

Lavanya had slipped away quietly, to mourn in her room, not wanting publicly to give into the emptiness and ache that she knew would become a permanent part of her.

_I am so thankful that I loved him fully before this happened…he knew love in its fullest. _

She was curled up on the bed, feeling Erik's kisses and his hands as he made love to her so completely. Tears poured down her face at the thought of never again hearing his deep, melodic voice – never again seeing the passion dance in his stormy, sea green eyes – never again feeling his body move with hers in the most beautiful of rhythms.

It had only been days after finding him that she realized how much she had missed him in her life…although she had never met him. He was the beat of her heart, the shadow that cradled her in the night, and every breath that gave her life….she feared she would die without him.

The only thing that kept her heart from ceasing to beat from the loneliness and grief was the possibility that she carried his baby within her womb…a part of him to live on forever.

A soft knock on the door brought her head up off the pillow and ceased her thoughts.

"Enter."

Tarrah came into the room, still pale and drawn from the tears she had shed…Lavanya had held her and she had held Lavanya – but they had finally needed to grieve alone.

"Phillip is downstairs, Anya…he says he has very important news but will not say anything to any of us until he talks to you."

Lavanya hardly felt like receiving company, but she knew that Phillip was crushed also…he had not been here since they learned of Erik's death.

She rose from the bed and slid her tiny feet into a pair of slippers. She did not bother to assess her appearance; there was no one for whom she wished to look good.

♦♠♥♣

_An hour or two ago…_

"It is faint…but I hear it." The tall, gangly man announced to the others.

"I thought I heard it too, I was hoping I was not losing my mind….not yet." A shorter, stouter man agreed, rubbing his pointed beard.

"They pronounced him dead at the scene…those imbeciles!"

The third constituent did not seem to fit with the others, he was far more distinguished and his heavy accent made it quite clear that he had come from somewhere far away.

"We are all doctor's here…there is no need to be insulting." The tall one stated with a raised chin.

"I am not being insulting…" the accented one stated with an arrogant lift of his brow, "…I speak the truth."

He listened again for the heartbeat and sighed in relief. He nodded at the four other men that were in the room – four of the most influential and powerful princes in Russia.

"Once I remove the bullets and seal the wounds, he should heal quite well…but he has lost a great deal of blood."

They nodded, looking concerned but far less so than they had only a few moments ago.

The bullets were not difficult to remove with the patient passed out and oblivious to the pain that would have been excruciating otherwise. Dr. Yergi Sidarenka worked hard to make sure that his patient had the best care he could give him.

"I have done all that I can do, the rest is up to him."

"The scarring on his face…does it pain him?" One of the princes asked - he was a rather young man with severe features - but kind, deep, warm brown eyes.

Yergi shook his head and looked back down at his slumbering patient.

"No, the scars were already in place before he was born…the poison worked inside the womb of Bernadette and altered his appearance."

Once again, the four princes nodded, "So it will not affect any offspring he may sire."

"No, it will not."

Interrupting any other question that they may have asked, Phillip entered the room, carrying the messenger's request from Lavanya.

"I intercepted my brother's messenger on the street below...Lady Lacroix wishes to see the body of her husband."

After finishing his introduction, Phillip focused on the reclining, bandaged man lying in the bed directly in fron ot him; his mouth gaped open and the lines or sorrow that had laced his features….disappeared.

He ignored the imposing figures at the side of the room and the doctor, and rushed to Erik's side.

"He is not dead!"

Dr. Sidarenka crossed his arms over his barrel-sized chest, arched a thick, gray brow, and narrowed his steely blue eyes.

"Who are you?"

Phillip stood at Erik's side, relieved to find him alive, but concerned about the pallor of his skin.

"He is so pale…" Phillip lifted his eyes to the learned men in the room, "…it this normal?"

Not bothering to acknowledge the intruder, Yergi crossed the room remarkably fast for a man his size and stood his ground – staring pointedly up at Phillip.

"Young man..." he clipped, "….I asked you a question."

Phillips brows raised and he bowed his head in an apologetic gesture, "I am sorry…I am Count Phillip de Changy, I am courting Monsieur Lacroix's ward, Tarrah Sheldon."

The four princes, standing stoically against the far wall, began mumbling among themselves as Phillip threw them an inquisitive look.

"Who are they?"

Dr. Sidarenka rolled his eyes and stated in a bored tone, "Four of the most powerful princes from the provinces on Russia, they are here to make sure Lord Erik gets the proper care and recovers without incident so that he may claim what is rightfully his."

Phillip chuckled and shook his head, "If he hears anyone call him, 'Lord', he will likely make whoever says it regret it….he is not too keen on the idea of being nobility."

Phillip immediately went defensive, "Why did they not stop Yves from doing what he set out to do?"

Yergi shrugged his shoulders and looked wearily into Phillips young face, "They had to let the natural course of things take place and not alter the events…it was crucial that Erik prove his worth."

The disgusted look on Phillip's face made it quite clear how upset he was about their lack of involvement in preventing bloodshed.

"Our ways are not your ways…it all worked out in the end."

As though a light came on in his head, Phillips started quickly for the door; before he could make it out, he had a question.

"When will he awaken?"

"Perhaps today…perhaps tomorrow…" Yergi shrugged his shoulders once again, "…who knows?"

"My brother is telling Lavanya Lacroix that she is a widow - probably as we speak…"

Yergi shooed him off with a fatherly wave of his arms, "…then you best get over there and make things right…"

Before he could leave, one of the four princes stopped him with a firm hand to his arm, "Lord Demidov has a wife?"

Phillips frowned at his cryptic question.

"Yes…they are newly wedded…married only a few weeks ago."

They mumbled amongst themselves once again; and once they finished, faced Phillip with an annoying sureness in their eyes.

"We will go with you to meet Lady Demidov…we must speak with her."

Phillip shook his head and furrowed his brow.

"She has been grieving over his loss for the entire night…I will not allow you to go in there and just make things more complicated." Phillip demanded, "Let me handle it."

"Very well, but we will ride with you…we shall remain in the carriage until you send for us." They insisted.

Phillip held up his hand, stopping them.

"You will wait here, I will bring her to you after I let her know what is going on and tell her about you."

They reluctantly agreed and Phillip left. Every one needed to know…especially Lavanya and Tarrah…

…Erik lived.

TBC


	42. Chapter 42 Every Breath I Take

I know I had some of you scared...but you knew I could not kill our Erik...he's everything. Things are winding down now; so, lean back and enjoy the last few minutes of the ride.

I tried to stay true to my characters in this chapter...I hope you are not disappointed.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 42

The stairs seemed longer and more fearsome than they had in the past, but Lavanya descended toward the parlor with regal grace – despite the need to disappear.

She wanted to go home – the home Erik had purchased for her – and she wanted to see Sumukhi, the young filly that he had purchased for her. She wanted to be near his things…his clothes, his piano…and the halls that echoed with his laughter.

She wanted to go home.

Phillip glided toward her with entirely too much glee in his step, and she wondered if he was aware of Erik's death.

"Madam, I have just left the hospital…" he paused a moment, "…I intercepted the messenger that you sent asking to see Erik's body, so I carried it over to the coroner; he said he did not have the body of Erik Lacroix and told me to go to the hospital. So, I assumed they had not transported him yet and went to the hospital."

Raoul lifted a brow and tried to sound patient.

"Phillip, is there a point to this?"

Phillip smiled and nodded, he then took Lavanya's trembling hand in his.

"They made a mistake at the scene, Madam, Erik is alive and I have spoken with the doctor who confirmed it!"

She yanked her hand from his and started backing away from him. She covered her mouth and closed her eyes.

"It is true, Lavanya, I swear to you." Phillip confirmed, "My carriage is outside ready to carry you to his side."

She needed no other encouragement; she swept past him, retrieved her parasol, and proceeded out the door – and everyone followed.

Mr. Tibbs – smiling as though he had been the one to discover fire – walked them all out and awaited instructions.

Lavanya leaned to speak to him from the door of the carriage.

" Norman, please ready the staff to return to Lacroix Manor, Lord Erik will be coming home to recover and I intend to take care of him."

"Yes, my lady."

Once the door closed and they had all settled in, Phillip nervously gave more details.

"Erik is not conscious at this time…he seems to be in a very deep sleep. The Russian doctor that they brought here to tend to him said that he could be asleep for some time…he was not sure."

He had to spend the next ten minutes explaining why the Russian royal family had sent one of their personal doctors to tend to Erik.

"They are eager for him to take his rightful place in their nobility ranks."

Lavanya sat demurely with her hands in her lap, but when her eyes caught his, Phillip saw unswerving, obstinate, stubbornness.

"That decision is Erik's and I will support him – no matter what he decides to do."

The hospital could not have come up fast enough for Lavanya; she led the horde up the walkway toward the dingy, drab building.

Dr. Sidarenka met them in the hallway as they approached the room.

"Lady Demidov, I presume." He bowed.

Lavanya, unimpressed with titles and flair, regarded him with irritation

"I will be Lady Demidov when and if my husband so chooses to take the title; until then, I am Madam Lacroix."

Yergi lifted a brow and then smirked with pride at the spirit in her…thinking she would produce good sons.

"I want to see him…and I want him to be returned to our home where things are familiar to him – voices, smells, sounds – everything."

"Madam…"

"There will be no compromising – Erik would not want to me here and I respect his wishes."

"But he requires care – bathing, changing the wound dressing…"

Lavanya lifted her own brow, and sighed loudly.

"There will be _no one_ bathing my husband but me…and I can change his bandage – I need no help."

Dr. Sidarenka knew how pointless it was to argue with her, so he threw up his hands in surrender, mumbled a quick curse of some sort, and assured her it would be done.

♣♦♥♠

Lavanya ran to his still form and wiped the hair from his eyes with the tears that coated her hands. He looked so incredibly handsome and peaceful, but she knew he was still in bad shape.

Over the next few hours, she read to him, the books she had quickly stashed away in her satchel, and washed his face and neck; his scars were dear to her and she lovingly cleaned them to remove the dirt that had settled on the warm flesh.

When her eyes grew too tired to see anything, she scooted her chair closer to the bed, turned his hand palm side up, and rested her head upon it. He still smelled so wonderful and she could not help but cry herself to sleep; her mind in a constant state of thanksgiving.

She was roused several hours later by the doctor…it was time to move Erik.

♥♦♣♠

Erik felt like death…he was certain every muscle in his body had been strained beyond its capacity. He had no idea how long he had been out, but the voices that hovered over him all the time were unfamiliar to him.

His eyes were heavy and he lacked the initiative to open them, but his ears worked just fine. He contemplated the language that was being spoken by five of the voices, and then there were the educated, pompous French doctors that always seemed to want to use him as a lab experiment.

He must have fluttered an eyelash or lifted his brow a tiny bit, because one of the five foreign voices drew closer and addressed him in – what Erik assumed – was French – and the worst thing about it was they insisted on calling him by **_that_** name.

"Lord Demidov…can you hear me?"

Erik smirked – at least he thought he did – and tried to open his eyes.

"He is waking up…get his wife."

Erik opened them briefly, but immediately slammed them shut again, the sun was piercing his eyes as readily and forcefully as a knife pierced flesh.

"Close the drapes…bring him some food."

Erik managed to look directly at the man barking the orders and scowled. He was as unassuming as men come – short, round, rather obscure looking, and scraggly – but the moment their eyes locked, Erik knew this man was a huge force hidden in a small package.

"Good morning, Lord Demidov, it is good to at last see the color of your eyes."

Erik did not speak, but examined the familiar room – stopping briefly on the garish looking men huddled against the wall as though fearing it would collapse without them.

"How long have I been lying here?"

Erik's voice was grainy and slightly hoarse from lack of use, but he managed to clear it and ask the question again in the voice that could heat the polar ice caps.

"Three days, my lord, you have been out for three days."

Erik remembered the events that landed him here – vividly – too vividly. He cringed as he remembered the sight of his brother's blood pouring out of his wound and onto Erik's hands.

"I should be dead." He whispered; feeling the dull ache in his side and reliving the moment when he thought his life was over.

"Yes, you should be, but you have a strong will to live…stronger than any I have ever seen."

The doctor arched a brow and planted a comical curve on his lips; Erik thought he looked very much like a mythical gnome…not a compliment by any means.

"Only one visitor for now, until we know his condition."

The door opened and Erik heard the words of one of the other doctors; then, as though seeing him for the first time, Lavanya entered the room.

It was at this moment Erik realized he was at home, in their bed – and he was completely naked except for some sort of flimsy, gauze material they had draped around him.

"Leave us." He said.

The doctors nodded and left the room.

"Take care, my lord, you are in no shape…."

"That will be all, Doctor, thank you." Erik drilled, never taking his eyes from Anya.

Dr. Sidarenka chuckled and shook his head, mumbled something incoherent beneath his breath, and left the room.

"Anya…" he whispered, "…I am so sorry for everything."

She ran to him, climbed gently onto the bed and curled up beside him. She nuzzled her way beneath his arm and rested in the crook of his arm.

She soothed his concerns away with a gentle kiss to the soft curve of his neck; not caring that she was shedding tears of utter relief and joy.

"Erik…I thought I had lost you…I ached from the void that was left when I feared I would never see you again."

He traced his lips across the silky sheen of her hair, breathing in her scent and knowing that his home – his life – was where she was, and always would be.

"I had to do it, Anya; you do understand that…yes?"

She nodded, "yes", but Erik still heard her quiet sniffling and his heart melted with the knowledge that this woman – this beautiful, desirable, elegant woman – loved him…and no other.

"It was the only way to end it – or he would have haunted us and caused irreparable damage later…when we had built a family…I could not allow that."

She repositioned beside him, and Erik caught her scent on the pillows and sheets.

"You have been here, beside me, every night since you found out I was alive."

It was not a question, because Erik knew she had been; and her tousled hair and

"Yes…as soon as Phillip told me, there was nothing they could do to keep me away."

She clutched him tighter, careful not to aggravate his wounds, but giving him the assurance that she would not allow him to act in such a foolish manner again.

"Phillip told you?"

"Yes."

They laid there, embracing each other; Anya was cautious about his injuries, but Erik held her tightly against him.

"I do believe that as soon as you are on your feet and feeling better, I shall have to punish you."

A low, rumbling sound filled his chest; and although it was not a pleasant feeling, Erik could not help but continue laughing.

"Punish me…that sounds quite interesting..." He teased with a glint in his eyes, "…what did you have in mind?"

She sat up and regarded him with tears in her eyes and a trembling chin, "I am serious, Erik…what would I have done without you?"

She wept in front of him and Erik, in a blatant disregard for his own wounds, leaned toward her and pulled her to him.

"I am sorry, my love…my own safety has never been a priority for me and it is a new development in my life to have someone care about me…" he lifted her chin with his fingers and was lost in her eyes, "…my only concern was your safety."

His calming, lulling voice eased her fears and he found her drifting to sleep on his chest. She was on the opposite side of his wounds, she felt so wonderful against him, and Erik gently traced the outline of her eyes and followed the curve of her cheeks with his tender touch.

The doctor walked in a few minutes later and gave Erik a look that said he wanted her to leave.

"You will leave her be, this is probably the best she has slept in three days."

"But My Lord, the princes…"

Erik held up his hand, halting him in mid-sentence.

"Doctor, whatever it is they wish to discuss with me can wait, my wife needs her rest and apparently she cannot rest without me by her side..." the doctor began to protest, but Erik ignored him, "…she is not hurting me, I feel very well, AND…" he emphasized, "…if everyone does not immediately stop calling me "my lord", said person will be sentenced to a life of servitude in the penal colonies in Siberia."

Even in a roaring whisper, his voice held force and power, his point was quite clear.

TBC


	43. Chapter 43 Meet Me Half Way

Again, no beta...sorry. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 43

The arguing had long since moved beyond the point of reasonable and slipped into the ridiculous. Erik lounged in the bed, still rather weakened by the loss of blood, but recuperating quickly.

"Lord Demidov…you must…"

Erik glared at the speaker, reducing him to ash with his eyes.

They had been arguing amongst themselves, determining his future without consulting him, and he had had enough.

"Do not assume for one moment that I am going to sell my soul to you and your kind; I have said – and I will say it again – I have NO desire to claim anything that resembles a title nor do I wish to inherit anything that was once coveted by my father."

Before speaking again, the young prince chose his words wisely.

"Monsieur Lacroix, we _strongly_ urge you to reconsider your place in Russia…your genius and life experiences would be such an asset to our country and the aristocracy as a whole."

Erik was strangely flattered by his words, but adamant about his decision. He understood the importance of a balanced aristocracy and the need to keep a family name going, but he was not going to be the one.

"I can assure you, I care not."

Blatant, unbelieving masks covered the faces of the four princes of Russia; they had never come upon anyone who did not wish to be a member of the elite – the titled and privileged of society – Erik was the first.

"Monsieur, we know that your relationship with your father was not the best…"

"Relationship!" Erik ground out between clenched teeth. "All that my 'relationship' with my father awarded me was this face, a life without my mother, and years of torment….so you will have to excuse me if I have no inclination to have anything to do with my father's country, my father's wealth, or my father's title."

He was seething – visibly so – and the men knew better than to say anything else. Anya walked into the room, not caring that they considered her an intruder.

"Gentleman, is there another person out there…someone else who can take over?"

Erik graced her with a cockeye smirk, his eyes dancing with pride at her suggestion. She smiled sweetly at them and then smiled hungrily at Erik….it had been too long since they had had any time alone.

The room became deathly silent and the four princes' shuffled words in a foreign language and ended it abruptly with an argumentative grunt of agreement.

"Yes, there is, but his claim is weak and he knows nothing of his heritage."

Erik furrowed the dark wing of his brow and frowned.

"I knew nothing of my heritage until about a week ago – and yet, you pursued me." He pointed out with a large amount of suspicion growing on his features, "Who is this person?"

They mumbled to each other and seemed hesitant to reveal any details, but Erik's unwavering stare finally encouraged them to share.

"Your father also had a daughter out of wedlock…born to a tavern wench he had a brief encounter with – before he married Yves' mother. That daughter grew up and married a local merchant and, in time, gave birth to a son – before her husband was killed in some sort of accident."

The news that he had a sister and a nephew warmed him more than Erik would have thought possible.

"The claim is actually hers, not mine." Erik spat; more than a little bit annoyed with them.

"The title and wealth cannot be claimed by a woman….and the child is not of age nor is his blood strong enough."

The frown deepened and Erik was doing all that he could to not strangle any of them.

"How old is he?"

Hesitation, once again…and Erik clenched his fists.

"Twelve…Lord…" catching himself before he made a dire mistake, the nearest man cleared his throat and continued, "…Monsieur Lacroix...he is twelve."

"Is his mother smart, fair, and humble?" Erik asked, causing them all to share perplexed stares and creased brows.

"Yes, she appears to be."

Erik nodded and ran a confident hand through his dark, tousled waves.

"And where do they reside?"

Erik asked the question while moving his legs over to the side of the bed and preparing to stand.

They watched in wonder, as he stood to his full height before them -stubbornly unwavering and every inch of him dark and daunting.

Anya stood beside him, her arm wrapped protectively around his waist, and her eyes fixed lovingly on him.

"They live in Spain…" they finally answered, not liking that he had obtained this information. "…just outside of Madrid."

Feeling stronger and needing to stretch his sore muscles, Erik moved slowly, but elegantly, over to them.

"In two days time, after I have exercised for some time, eaten normally, and bathed several times, you will take me to them…I wish to meet the members of my family."

After a shared look of shock, they all made to argue with him – but he lifted his hand in a bored, swift turn of his wrist.

"You have no choice in the matter." Erik stated – no contest in his voice, "Now leave."

"Leave?" They all asked at the same time.

"Yes…as in, I…DO…NOT...WISH….TO….SEE….YOU…AGAIN…TONIGHT."

Lavanya giggled behind her raised hand, but watched amusingly as they all scampered away like frightened mice.

His mischievous, roguish eyes twinkled as they almost trampled each other to get out the door; he then turned those eyes to Anya. He covered her hand with his and lifted it to his lips.

"You take my breath away…just by being near." He swept his warm lips across her wrist and saw the thrill that spread over her and settled in her eyes.

The room had a slight spin and Erik knew that he needed to lie back down. He turned toward the bed, cursing his own weakness…he so longed to ravish his lovely wife.

Anya walked beside him, supporting him with her arm around his thinning waist; he had not eaten properly in a week.

She sat him on the edge of the bed and kissed him passionately, knowing by the sensual warmth of his eyes and the silky timbre of his voice that he had seduction on his mind.

It was a slow, drugging kiss that her slowly pushing his robe from his broad shoulders and easing him back against the mattress. Erik's hands leisurely trailed a hot path up her sides and around to her back; effortlessly unclasping the holds on her dress.

Their tongues wound around each other - dipping and weaving, caressing and petting; their bodies moved in rhythm with each other – his surging upward, begging for attention, hers grinding against his rigid heat and building to a molten crescendo.

"Dance for me."

His gravely whisper sent an erotic thrill up her spine; it was the first time he had ever asked her to dance for him.

She stood, pulling him to a sitting position; his erect staff pushing against the silk material of his sleeping pants.

The Indian dress she wore fell to the floor and she gave Erik her back; she began the slow, intoxicating language of her body, swaying in time with a beat that only she could hear.

She captivated him; from the graceful movements of her hands and the sway of her hips to the smoldering embers of desire lighting her sea green eyes.

Somehow, he forgot about the dull throb in his side where he had been shot and devoured his wife with his hungry gaze. She came to him…moving between his legs and gently grasping his strong shoulders.

His large, nimble-fingered hands shimmied over the sensitive flesh of her thighs, moving upward until his hands were fanning her abdomen, teasing the petal softness with his thumbs while he rested his cheek against her.

Her full breasts were too tempting to ignore and he cupped them with his hands, teasing the tight buds until she whimpered in pleasure and drew her bottom lip in between her teeth.

She fit so perfectly against him, and his mouth sought the swollen peaks of her breasts until he was sucking upon her bounty with the greed of a newborn; leaving her utterly breathless in his arms.

She eased his shoulders back onto the bed, until he was helpless beneath her. Her whispered kisses upon his eyelids, over the curve of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw, and the camber of his neck made Erik's body bolt upright in one particular area – and a very distinct moan vibrated from deep within his throat.

Now, this would have been a wonderful, enjoyable, charged experience…if a loud, annoyingly persistent knock had not interrupted.

Erik growled his frustration, threw back on his robe and angrily opened the door; Anya had disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Mr. Tibbs stood there, apologizing profusely with his eyes; but that did not stop him from saying what needed to be said.

"The Vicomtess…" Erik lifted an inquiring brow at the quiver in Norman's normally studious voice, "…has gone into labor."

TBC


	44. Chapter 44 Hurry Up and Wait

Beta free...sadly. 

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 44

Anya hurried out of the bathroom upon hearing the news and began getting ready to leave. Erik watched her from beneath his sable lashes; leaning against the frame of the door with an amused, quirky grin on his face.

"You know that these things can take hours Anya…there is no need to rush."

She continued to move quickly, ignoring the alluring pull of his voice.

"Come on, Erik…get ready, we need to leave."

Erik did not move, but remained rather firm and unmoving – staring at her as though she had grown another head.

Anya did not realize he was not moving until she glanced back up and frowned at him.

"What are you doing?"

He chuckled, annoyingly, and still did not move.

"Erik!"

"I see no reason for me to go, Anya…what would I do?"

She halted in front of him, thrust her eyes rather abruptly up to his, and frowned.

"What do you mean you are not going?" She asked, almost giving in to the urge to kick him in the shins.

Erik found it rather difficult to look her in the eyes and began to squirm beneath her impudent stare.

"Erik…" her voice softened when she saw the uncertainty in his eyes and the fleeting sweep up pain that crossed his features, "…Christine wants you there to share in this moment of joy…I know she does."

He shook his head in disagreement and finally moved to the bed; he fell back onto it and clasped his hands behind his head.

"It is best that I stay here." He murmured.

She crossed the room rather quickly, stood over his head, and stared boldly down at him.

"Is your hesitancy due to the injury from which you have not quite recovered, or because you still doubt the sincerity of people who call themselves your friends?"

It never failed to surprise him how intuitive she was about his emotions and inner thoughts.

His failure to answer spoke volumes and Anya leaned down and kissed his forehead; caressing his exposed scars with the smooth tips of her fingers as she did so.

"Trust me, my love." She whispered.

Erik opened his soulful, dark eyes and smiled dolefully.

"I trust you implicitly, Anya; it is just that I am not sure how tolerant Raoul would be of my presence…I have no right to be there."

"Raoul respects you, Erik…he admires how far you have come in your life and the obstacles you have overcome. He knows how much you mean to Christine and how much she means to you."

He was unusually quiet for a few moments and then quietly stated, "I just do not want to push myself on them...in any way."

"You are not, Erik...please believe this."

He nodded and got up off the bed, making his way toward the closet to change his clothes.

"I will go summon the carriage, meet me downstairs."

Erik nodded once again, but stopped her just short of the door.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" He asked softly, caressing her features with the touch of his eyes.

She smiled, rose to the tips of her toes, and kissed him on the mouth; sucking his bottom lip into her mouth for effect.

"You have…and what is even better, you have _shown_ me how much you love me."

She winked at him and walked out the door, leaving him to dress and meet her in the carriage.

♥♦♠♣

It seemed like hours had gone by and the doctor still had not come out. Raoul paced the floor and Phillip counted the paces…both of them anxiously awaiting any news about Christine and the baby.

"Does it normally take this long?" Raoul asked, not expecting an answer from anyone in the room.

"That depends, how long has she been in labor?"

Raoul stopped pacing long enough to see Erik and Lavanya coming through the door. Erik had lost his trepidation over the situation and was determined to be of whatever use he could be to Raoul during this time…after all, the boy had been there with him when he lost D'Ombre and when he had almost lost his life.

Erik had posed the question and, in answer; Raoul shrugged his weary, burdened shoulders.

"I honestly have no idea – it seems like forever."

He slumped into a nearby chair, swept his hand through his ash blond hair, and then rubbed his face as though warding off the sluggishness that came with having not gotten enough sleep.

Erik gave his shoulder a slight squeeze and sat down in the chair that was beside him.

"Raoul, you probably wonder how I know some of the things I know…but do not forget that I am a well traveled man; I have witnessed many things." He sat back, but his elbow on the arm of the chair, and leaned toward the younger man.

"Labor is a relentless and lengthy affair, especially when it is the first baby."

Raoul was full of anxious energy, but his body was not cooperating. He trembled from head to toe and his eyes darted about as though watching an invisible rat scurry around in a cage.

"Raoul, she will be fine…let the doctor do his job."

"How do you know all this, Erik…I am just curious?" Raoul finally asked.

"The years I spent in the gypsy camp and as a slave in India were full of opportunities to watch and learn…and later, to help…." He leaned back against the chair and crossed his long, elegant legs. "….I was able to learn many things under the tutelage of Madam Russo in the gypsy camp…she was an amazing medicine woman."

It seemed that Erik had captivated his audience with another story of his past; things he had never considered important or interesting were suddenly the most enticing things to hear.

"In India, I was able to assist several of the female slaves as they gave birth…there was no doctor for them…they either lived or died as they labored on their own."

Anya gasped upon hearing this, and was appalled that such behavior was practiced in her country.

"I said all that, to say this…Christine could be in labor for hours, or it could only last a short time…no one really knows…." Erik leaned forward and slapped Raoul's knee, jostling the young man out of his dreary state of mind. "…the important thing is that you are here for her."

Raoul immediately stood up and turned to Anya.

"Christine was asking for you earlier, you may want to go to her." Anya nodded and headed toward the birthing room, "Lavanya…." Raoul stated, she looked at him and smiled, "…tell her that I love her and that Erik is here…she will want to know."

She quickly entered the room and disappeared behind the closed door. Erik took a moment to assess Raoul's condition, decided that the boy was extremely antsy, and needed to calm down.

"Come Raoul, walk with me."

"But Christine…"

"We are only walking the perimeter of the house, we will be within earshot."

Raoul actually welcomed the change of scenery; he was quickly losing the battle he was waging with his nerves and needed a distraction.

They walked without talking for a few minutes, enjoying the mild weather and noting the display of playful spring flowers blooming in the gardens.

"Tell me, boy…why is it important to Christine that I be here for this?"

Raoul chuckled at his use of "boy", releasing a little bit of the pent up anxiety inside him.

"Erik…have you not discovered how much she loves you? You are like a protective brother, a doting uncle, and a loving father – all rolled into one man. The same man who just happens to have taught her to sing and encouraged her to be a headstrong and intelligent woman."

Erik stared strangely at Raoul, regarding him as though he had suddenly sprouted horns.

"She still holds me in such esteem…how can she - after what I put you both through?"

Raoul did not look at him as they continued to walk and talk.

"Everyone makes mistakes, Erik…and you have more reason than most to be bitter...and more than a little bit angry with the world."

More silence ensued, and they made it back to the front door.

"Nonetheless, please accept my apologies." Erik humbly offered, "I find I have no need for anger or hidden agendas anymore."

"What are you going to do, Erik…about Russia and your father's legacy?"

They once again stood in front of Phillip – but someone else had joined the waiting circle.

Vallatina de Changy seemed to have materialized out of thin air; in fact, the snooty tilt of her chin and the persnickety twist of her thin lips led Erik to believe that she had actually done just that.

"Mother." Raoul groaned.

"Raoul, I came as quickly as I could…" she swept her eyes over Erik's tall figure and lifted a gray brow, "…and what is _he_ doing here?"

Raoul rolled his eyes, gritted his teeth, and clenched his fists.

"Erik is here because both Christine and I asked him to be here."

She scoffed and pulled off her proper gloves and then removed her ridiculous bonnet.

"Why would she need him here…he is beneath her station and nothing to her."

The words came forth in a demanding way, as though someone should have heeded her words and thrown him off the premises.

Raoul and Phillip both looked as though they wished to be swallowed up in a large, deep hole, but Erik simply chuckled and shook his head.

"Mother, do you ever read the newspaper?" Phillip asked incredulously. "This man, whom you so rudely insulted, is a high-ranking nobleman in the Russian aristocracy."

Vallatina, for her part, seemed utterly shocked. Her jaw dropped and she seemed speechless – a feat that would have been an answer to prayers; but she soon recovered.

"Really, how very interesting." She murmured; dropping her eyes and looking away.

There was little else she could say, or she would incriminate herself.

"Mother, why are you here?"

She lifted her chin once again and finally looked at Raoul with her normal confidence restored.

"My first grandchild is about to come into the world, I belong here."

Raoul sighed in frustration and walked over to her.

"With all that you had in you, you tried to break Christine – even after we were married – why do you presume that she even wants you here?"

It was as though a torrential rainstorm had swept through and suddenly landed on Vallatina de Chagny. Tears poured down her face and her shoulders shook from the force.

"Please, my son, forgive me for my past behavior…and I shall ask the same of Christine…" she smiled, something Raoul had rarely seen her do. "…she is such a sweet child, she will forgive me and we can start over."

She turned to Erik and tentatively approached his looming figure.

"Forgive me, my lord…and I do not ask simply because you are of noble birth…." the sparkle in her eyes seemed sincere and Erik found himself softening toward her, "…I have been exceptionally callous toward you and your lovely wife."

Erik nodded down at her and lifted the side of his mouth in an acknowledging smirk.

"I am also a product of my environment…I grew up in a household where those who were considered beneath us were not tolerated in anything other than servant roles…" she explained, "…and then I met Loring."

That was all she needed to say; the love she had for her husband was evident in the warmth of her eyes and softness of her voice.

It was moments later when a messenger delivered an urgent note to Dr. Chevelle, the doctor tending Christine.

Raoul sent the note up the stairs via Blanche, wondering what the content was.

Dr. Chevelle descended the stairs not long after, carrying his medical bag and holding a constrained scowl on his face.

"Doctor, where are you going?" Raoul asked, with panic rising in his voice.

"I have been called to another patient whose situation has suddenly turned dire." He stated, glancing down at his pocket watch. "The Vicomtess is not proceeding quickly and I fear that it will be some time before this baby is born…I must tend to this patient."

He donned his hat and walked through the open door, "I sent a message to my young colleague, Dr. Monét; he will be here as soon as possible."

Raoul watched the doctor leave and suddenly felt very alone.

♣♦♥♠

Lavanya sat with Christine on the large birthing bed; the exhausted young woman's head was in her lap and Lavanya smoothed her hair back and out of her eyes.

"You are doing fine, mere dost (my friend)."

Christine opened her eyes and gave a tired smile.

"Thank you for being here."

"Where else would I be?"

Christine bit back the pain that washed over her with another contraction. Lavanya helped her through it, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth and keeping her calm.

"Where is Annette?"

Christine once again opened her eyes and smiled, "She is not feeling very well…just a slight sniffle and scratchy throat, she sent word that she would not be here."

"Tarrah is on her way, she had a rehearsal to attend…." Lavanya assured her, "…but she will be here."

A young, inexperienced looking man walked in carrying a medical bag and looking as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.

Christine frowned at him after the last wave of contractions released her…giving him the distinct feeling that she did not approve of him.

"Where is Dr. Chevelle?"

"He had an emergency surgery to tend to…I will be acting in his stead."

He barely looked old enough to have any experience in the medical field, let alone be attending a birthing.

"I am Doctor Baltíc Monét."

He bowed to Christine, who eyed him with suspicion; and then to Lavanya, who bowed her head back to him.

"You look very young, Doctor…I am sorry if we seem a bit put off." Lavanya apologized.

He smiled nervously and proceeded to unpack his bag.

"Actually, after the interrogation I just underwent at the demands of a very intimidating and obviously intelligent masked man, this is quite pleasant."

Lavanya and Christine both chuckled, leaving the man to look rather lost.

"That would be my husband, Erik; Christine is like a sister to him."

Baltíc nodded and let out a long breath, "That would explain it."

"How far did Dr. Chevelle get with the examination…has he checked the baby's position in the birth canal?"

Christine shook her head.

"I am not sure why he has not, but I must check that first…to make sure that all is in place."

The examination was routine; for the most part; but the young doctor's face seemed rather strained as he proceeded through it. He did not say anything, not at first; but continued to poke and prod in various places.

"My lady…I am concerned with the position in which the baby appears to be…the head has not turned to the downward position."

Christine was not sure what he was telling her, but Lavanya seemed concerned.

"Excuse me…" he nodded, "…I need to speak with your husband about this."

The young doctor left the room in search of Raoul.

TBC


	45. Chapter 45 A Baby, A Man, and A Scolding

She's back!! Mlle.Fox is back and did proof this chapter for me. I am so glad to have her back.

Reviews on the last chapter were down...don't know why...

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 45

Raoul was having a hard time wrapping his mind around what the doctor was saying.

"It may come down to a choice, Viscount; I have never been in this situation before."

"A choice?" Raoul inquired, creasing his brow in concern.

Dr. Monét gave one nod of his head, "Yes, a choice…between your wife or your child."

Panic filled Raoul's eyes and coated his throat; he looked at Phillip and then at his mother…what was he going to do?

Erik and Tarrah chose that moment to come through the door. He had heard her carriage pulling up and had gone out to greet her just as the doctor came down to talk to Raoul.

Noticing the change in the air immediately, Erik narrowed his eyes, turned his head slightly, and lowered his chin.

"What is wrong?"

"It is the baby, Erik…it is trying to be born feet first."

Erik took a deep breath, closing his eyes and raising his chin to the heavens.

"It is not a hopeless situation, by any means, Raoul." Erik glanced at the young doctor and folded his arms across his chest. "So doctor, I take it that turning the baby did not work, are you planning on doing surgery?"

Dr. Monét looked directly into Erik's eyes and lifted both brows, "I have not turned the baby, my lord…I have never attempted such a thing."

Erik held back the urge to roll his eyes and slap his forehead with his hand.

"You were not just going to do surgery without trying, though…were you?"

The young doctor looked hopeful, but then noticed the shocked look on Erik's face.

"The process of turning the baby is quite painful on the mother – from what I have been taught – and can cause severe bleeding resulting in death from loss of blood."

Erik dropped his hands to his side and stood even taller than usual; he was not going to yield on this subject – Christine's life, and the life of her unborn child, rested on the success of whatever decision was made.

Raoul listened intently, and knew that Erik had a point…as did Dr. Monét.

He marched up the stairs, leaving both men staring after him. He careened through the door of Christine's birthing room and was shocked to see his wife's exhausted body coated in a sheen layer of sweat and her beautiful brown hair plastered against her forehead.

"Christine, my love…we have to make a decision that could mean the loss of your life, the loss of the baby's life – or both."

"Or neither." Erik stated as he walked into the room, followed by the doctor.

"Erik…can you help her…please…" Anya rushed to him and grasped his arm, "….she is in such incredible pain."

"Raoul…I have done this before…" Erik assured him, "…it was quite some time ago, but this is a natural act and the basics do not change."

Relief, like a cool spray of water on a hot summer day, washed over him and Raoul felt tears fill his eyes.

He went to Erik and embraced him, practically breaking down in the older man's arms.

"Do what you can, Erik…."

They both looked at Christine and she nodded with a smile of confidence on her tired face.

Erik just nodded his head and became all business.

"Anya, bring me some very warm water, a block of soap, and a towel – I must wash my hands."

He went to the door and called for Tarrah to come up. She was there in an instant.

"I will need more towels, more warm water…warm to the touch, but not hot…a sterilized, sharpened knife and a large bowl."

The women went to gather the items and Erik went to Christine's side. He moved her birthing gown up, exposing her bottom half, and placed his ear to her extended abdomen.

"Doctor Monét, may I borrow your stethoscope?"

He listened again, and smiled when he heard a strong heartbeat…the baby was still doing well.

"He certainly has a strong heartbeat…despite being stubborn about his position right now."

Christine giggled lightly and then closed her eyes, resting quietly until the next strong contraction hit her.

"Christine, this will not be pleasant, but I must see how ready you are for this baby to be born...it is invasive - but is must be done."

She nodded bravely and smiled weakly.

Erik performed the task, bringing on an immediate contraction, which had his heart hurting. He washed his hands again, and turned back to Christine.

"You are fully dilated…which is a very good thing…let us proceed."

Erik turned to Raoul and motioned for him to come over and sit beside Christine on the bed.

"This is highly irregular." The good doctor stated, emphatically.

Erik scoffed and continued his task.

"I have found that the woman does much better if her spouse is present and supporting her…as long as the sight of blood does not make him squeamish." Erik looked at Raoul and smirked, "You are not squeamish at the sight of blood…are you?"

Raoul shrugged his shoulders and did as he was told. He actually sat behind her and pulled her tired body into the haven of his chest with his legs at her sides, and rested her head upon his shoulder.

Erik took her hand and spoke to both of them.

"What I am going to do is reach inside you, Christine…I am going to turn the baby until the head is pointed down and then – we hope and pray – the baby will be born on its own without any further intervention." He frowned and dropped his eyes, "It will be painful and most uncomfortable…" he looked them both in the eyes, "…at least I have been told that it is."

He laid everything out and readied himself.

"Be ready, Dr. Monét…this could very well bring on the birth immediately."

The doctor shook his head and waved his hands, "I will, but you seem to have everything under control."

Christine started screaming with her next contraction, and Erik went to work.

♥♣♦♠

The moment he heard the baby's loud wale, Raoul released the pent up emotion he had been holding since entering the room; tears of relief fell as he watched the doctor sew Christine up. He saw Tarrah and Lavanya tending to the newborn, and he held Christine's exhausted body against his chest, smoothing back her sweat drenched hair and noticing the peaceful haze in her eyes and the smile that played about her lips.

"Congratulations, Viscount, you have a son."

Raoul stared in wide-eyed wonder as the baby was placed at his mother's breast. Christine was crying tears of joy and could not take her eyes off the sweet face of her son.

"Erik….thank you…"

She looked around the room to thank the man who had saved her life and the life of her son, but he was nowhere to be found.

"Where is he?"

Raoul looked around the room; noticing for the first time that the door leading outside was slightly ajar.

"He must have slipped out to give us some time, but he needs to be here…I owe him everything."

Raoul started for the door, but Lavanya stopped him.

"I will go to him; you stay with your wife and newborn son."

The door led out into the large garden. Lavanya admired the roses and perky dahlias that were in full bloom. In the middle of the garden was a circular fountain with a small walking bridge that swept over into a picturesque gazebo.

His back was to her as he sat on the inside bench; but his head was hung low as though he was sleeping.

"Erik?"

His head moved slightly, but he did not look at her. Lavanya crossed the bridge and eased into the gazebo. When his eyes touched hers, she knew there was something wrong.

She rushed to him and held his head in hands, it was then that she noticed he held his side and there were bright red stains covering the front of his shirt.

He smiled wearily into her panicked eyes, trying to ease her fears.

"I just over exerted myself…I will be fine."

She gently pulled the shirt from the waist of his pants, but found her hands held back by his.

"Anya…I am fine…." He murmured, nuzzling her neck with the warmth of his breath. "You will have plenty of time to undress me when we get home."

His wink, although utterly destructible on her defenses, did nothing to ward off the worry in her eyes.

"Let the doctor have a look, Erik…I would feel much better."

Erik laughed, but the grimace that interrupted it proved he was in a great deal of pain.

He stood and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, trying not to rest his entire weight on her; but she refused to let him hurt himself any further.

"Lean on me, my love…Raoul is asking about you and so is Christine."

He took slow, deliberate steps, and still managed to bury his nose in her hair, breathing in her stabilizing and sensual scent.

"It was a bit awkward, helping Christine birth her child…I had never been close to any of the others…they were strangers."

Lavanya turned her face up to look him square in the eyes, and a proud, glorious smile covered her face.

"Your boundless knowledge never ceases to amaze me…I do not think there is anything you cannot accomplish if you put your mind to it."

She placed a quick kiss on his stubbled jaw and he smiled, "Would it be terribly rude of me to just want to go home…" he asked, "…there is a certain part of my anatomy that is still protesting the interruption earlier."

His lulling baritone purred into her ear and her entire body caught fire.

"Erik Lacroix….you are insatiable!"

He looked aghast for a moment, but then his shock turned to seduction as they entered the room.

"No more than you, my bride…no more than you."

Erik enjoyed a hero's welcome, as well as some much needed medical attention; but he noticed that Christine's eyes never left her baby's tiny, perfect face.

After the doctor closed his wounds again, and Erik regained some of his energy, he started to get up, but Raoul's hand forced him to remain seated.

"Do you want to hold Loring?" The younger man asked, proudly presenting his son to the man who had brought him into the world.

The look of pure terror on Erik's face would have been comical under any other circumstances, but no one in the room laughed.

"That is probably not a good idea…I am certain he would be terrified…" Erik laughed off the insult, but the sincerity of his words and the pain with which he spoke them, was quite palpable, "…I do not want to be the source of nightmares."

Christine sat up straighter in the bed and found a force behind her voice that would have stopped a thief – dead in his tracks.

"Do not ever say such things about yourself, Erik….never again." She chastised, boring her fiery eyes into his dejected face. "You are beautiful in every way there is to be beautiful, and my son will think so also…hold him in your arms and speak to him…your voice ,alone, carries the beauty of the angels."

Erik stared in stunned wonder at Christine - her words meaning more to him than he would have thought they would. He gulped down his panic as Raoul lowered the tiny spot of heaven into his large, suddenly cumbersome arms.

Erik laughed – a light, joyful sound meant only for the babes ears – and then he spoke.

"You are the fingerprint of God…how perfect in your innocence…" his eyes scanned the peaceful features and the breath of fine, brown hair that covered the babe's perfectly round head. "…what a wonder you are."

The infant – having just been born – simply opened his deep blue eyes for a brief moment – blinked a couple of times, yawned, stretched like a jungle cat – and fell asleep in Erik's arms.

The smile that Erik bestowed upon everyone was translucent…and tears shimmered in his eyes.

"I never was able to stay around after the birthing…he is the first baby I have ever held." Erik glanced down at the bundle that slumbered against his chest. "I have never seen anything so perfect."

Raoul agreed, and knelt down beside the chair in which Erik sat; staring at the features of his son.

"Wait until you hold your own child in your arms…this moment will fade when compared to that one."

Erik did not look up, but Anya noticed his shoulders slump – if only minutely.

"You are right; however…I doubt that any child of mine will look…"

He did not finish his sentence, but remained quiet. He continued to admire the baby and then tenderly brushed his long index finger over the soft cheeks and dimpled chin – before handing the infant back to his father.

All the emotion left his voice and his face before he looked up and found Lavanya looking at him with deep concern; his eyes immediately dropped to the floor and he shoved himself out of his chair.

"We should leave and let the family have some time alone." Erik said, standing up and heading for the door.

She silently agreed and followed him out the door.

♣♥♦♠

He was slower than usual, but he still moved with elegance and grace…and Lavanya found her eyes wandering to the tightly muscled curve of his backside and the long, lithe legs that tapered down into the leather, riding boots he wore.

She watched him painfully step up into the carriage and sit down; and then she sat beside him…he still had not looked at her.

She took his hand in hers and gently massaged his fingers, loving how he curved them toward her as she did so.

"You are staring at me." He grumbled.

"I am." She affirmed.

"Why?" He grunted.

"I am picturing what our children will look like."

He turned to look at her with those words, frowning and cocking his head to the right.

"Anya…"

"Erik, what is the problem…talk to me?"

He turned away and stared out the window, shaking his head in denial.

"Erik?"

His shoulders dropped and he spoke in a voice that was far more harsh than he had intended.

"Me…._I _am the problem."

Lavanya pulled back from him as though burned, "Do not dare, Erik…do not go to that dark place again…the place where you were when we first met…" she warned, "…and if you do…do not think for one moment that I will not come in after you…because I will."

He caressed her features with his eyes…something she loved to watch him do; it was like a warm breeze playing upon her skin.

"I cannot assure you that any child conceived from my seed will not be cursed with my face." Erik finally admitted, feeling lower than dirt.

Lavanya put her palm to his cheek and smiled through the sudden tears that filled her eyes.

"My love…this is what bothers you?"

Ignoring her soft, loving words, Erik continued.

"You should be the wife of a perfect looking man that will give you perfect looking children….not some old, deformed, mostly insane monster."

Those words made her angry and her green/blue eyes sparked with the indignation she was feeling.

"You have insulted the man that I love one too many times…you make sure that he understands that I do not care about perfect babies and perfect men…he is as close to perfect as I want him to be. He is beautiful of form, of soul, and of mind, and I will love any child that we create together – no matter what – simply because it will be our child."

She was not screaming at him, but Erik felt every word dig into his skin and firmly attach itself to his spirit.

He finally smiled and kissed her upturned lips with a touch of passion…affirming what he had on his mind.

"Alright…" he surrendered, "…I stand corrected."

TBC


	46. Chapter 46 That Certain Something

Sorry about the shortness of this chapter, I had a good stopping point...so I took it.

Thank you for all the wonderful words of encouragement...even though some of the things that I write are predictable, you stick by me anyway...I love you guys!!

This will undoubtedly be the longest story I have written to date - for I don't see finishing it in two chapters - most likely it was surpass the 50 chapters mark...that is yet to be seen.

Enjoy!

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 46

Mr. Tibbs opened the door to them, giving Erik a stern once over with his alert brown eyes. Erik rolled his eyes and sighed as he slowly walked into the hall.

"Do not concern yourself, Norman…my wife has already thoroughly scolded me and I am going to drag myself up the stairs and into bed."

Erik brushed past the smirking older man who found it hard to ignore the inner light that had come on in his young master...just since that morning; it was something that had been missing for far too long.

Lavanya covered her mouth with her gloved hand - stifling the giggle that threatened to erupt - and gave Mr. Tibbs a victorious smile.

"Please allow no visitors this evening and tell Blanche that there is no need to bring anything to our room…whatever Erik needs…" she emphasized as Mr. Tibbs smirked slightly, "…I will get." She started to turn and then remembered, "…where is Tarrah?"

"In her room, my lady." Mr. Tibbs answered.

Lavanya nodded and started up the stairs, following Erik's slow moving form.

"By the way…." she turned back around to say, "…please inform our Russian friends that the trip to Spain has been postponed for a few days…I want Erik to be fully recovered before he attempts such a harrowing trip."

Mr. Tibbs nodded and then offered her a heart-warming smile of approval.

She smiled back and then sped up the stairs past Erik. He looked up and sketched her a perfectly arched brow.

"I do believe that I shall beat you to the room, my love…you seem to be quite slow."

His green eyes sparkled with mischievous humor, "Whatever you do, my darling…do not start without me."

Anya giggled and batted her eyelashes in a ploy of innocence.

"I would not dream of it." She gasped, "What possible purpose would that serve?"

Erik grinned and continued inching his way up the stairs.

"I am unsure…but the thought is most intriguing."

The hall had gone completely empty, and Lavanya ran her hands up her body in a seductive show of self-pleasuring.

"Intriguing?" She whispered. "The thought of me pleasuring myself intrigues you?"

He nodded, but it was barely noticeable, as his attentions were elsewhere – namely on her hands, as she worked her own body into a heated arousal…and it was as though those same hands were wrapped around his own arousal, for he was fully erect with the thought of watching her pleasure herself.

"You have no idea…" he murmured in a tone as smooth, hot, and molten as the finest bottle of cognac that money could buy.

His voice caressed her with the same sensual, intoxicating finesse with which his hands did; his brow was cocked above his eyes in such a way that Lavanya's knees grew week and her womb fluttered anxiously within her.

Erik forgot about the dull, throbbing pain in his side as he drew closer to Anya; her eyes pinned his in a feral, she-cat gaze that had him hard as rock.

He finally reached her, his breathing deep and raspy – although he was certain it was more from his desire to make love to her and less from the strain it was to climb the stairs with less than his usual good health.

"You are teasing me, my wife…teasing me beyond the point of decency."

His roguish smirk danced over the sensitive skin of her breasts, hardening her nipples to an aching point; and the low rumbling chuckle in his chest skated down her spine and heated her core to a raging boil.

"Teasing you…I am simply standing here…smoothing the wrinkles in my clothing."

The only reaction he showed to her words was the elegant lift of his sable brow and a cock-eyed smirk.

"Please, my seducing vixen…there is nothing _simple_ about you."

She completely molded her soft, pliable body against his hard, chiseled one and lifted her eyes to his full, luscious lips.

"I never tease…"

Their lips did not touch, but Anya felt the bolt of energy that hit her senses just as strongly as if Erik had kissed her savagely. His long, talented fingers fanned through her hair; his thumb gently traced the hollow of her neck, the soft curve of her jaw, and then stroked her bottom lip…bringing a soft, begging whimper to her lips.

Lavanya kissed the palm of his hand, laving her tongue across it briefly. Taking his hand in hers, she led him to their room and shut the door.

"I will meet you on the balcony, my love."

She released him and headed into the washroom. Erik stayed still until the door to the washroom shut, and then he headed for their balcony.

The night had just begun, but the stars sparkled in harmony – creating a celestial melody that he was certain the heavens could hear.

He closed his eyes and was almost overwhelmed by the swell of love he felt flood his heart. Every fear…every doubt he had ever had, had been exonerated by Anya's unyielding, altruistic love for him.

There was nothing between them now…nothing to prevent him from finally having the happiness and love he had so longed for….since the day a little, brown haired girl had sung her way into a heart he never knew he had.

_"Erik…" _

They were in the carriage on the way home from the birthing, when Lavanya had said his name so quietly that he had thought it was the wind outside the carriage window.

_His eyes lifted to hers as soon as he realized she had spoken to him. _

_"I thought the poison that your father forced your mother to ingest was what caused your scarring…why do you feel as though it can be passed to our children?" _

_A stabbing pain had pierced his heart at her words. Could he believe what he had been told so long ago by his mother…could he trust that she had not said what she had said to protect him even further? _

_If he found out otherwise…would he hate her for lying to him? _

_"That is what I was told…" he could not meet her eyes, but kept them centered on the passing terrain. "…she made sure that I understood how I had come to be what I am." _

_Anya was at his side now, holding his clasped hands and resting her head upon his slumped shoulder. _

_"What if she just told me those things to keep the truth away from me?" _

_The swelling ache in his chest had been so binding that he had put his hand to it…trying to push it away. _

_"Maybe she did not want to cause me any more pain by telling me I had been cursed with this face…that it had not been caused by any act of my father…but by the very hand of God." _

_He could not keep the despondency out of his voice, and the incessant beating of his heart threatened to deafen him. _

_Would she leave him now? Would she cut her losses, pack his things, and send him to live with the animals where he belonged? _

_Everything he was; every dark inclination – every stroke of madness that had ever threatened to surface – every clandestine thought that had never quite manifested itself, would lurk inside any child who carried his blood. That thought terrified him beyond any other.  
_

_Perhaps she had finally come to her senses and would turn from him and never look back. _

_She did none of these things. She touched the softness of her palm to the tear-moistened surface of his cheek and turned his face to hers. _

_"This matters not, Erik…" she whispered with love, like none he had ever seen, glowing in her eyes. "…your mother loved you – enough to give her life protecting you…" _

_Her words had hit the spot deep inside of him that had been dead for so long. Her words finally drove away the demons that had been a part of him for thirty, dark, lonely years. His mother had done all she could do to protect him from the life she had never wanted him to be exposed to…and the evil that men do. _

_"…I love you, Erik – enough to give my life if it was asked of me…" she continued. _

_Every word she uttered liberated him from the hold the unknown had had over him. _

_"…but most of all…I love you so much that I do not care if your scars could pass to one or all of our children..." he had lifted his eyes to her at that moment…wanting to know what would cause her to say such a thing. "…if it would mean that they would be as strong of character, brilliant of mind, and beautiful of soul as you are." _

_He had wept in her arms…each of them holding on to the other with strength they did not know they possessed. _

_When the carriage had stopped at Lacroix Manor, Anya had been almost asleep in her husbands arms…but now, she knew he would bring her alive in his arms…and she longed for his touch like a deer longs for water. _

_Erik had descended the carriage first, and carefully eased her down – mindful of his injuries. Before pulling from him to head into the house, she had said one other thing. _

_"One more thing…my husband…" she had brushed her lips across his cheek, "…your scars are what led you to me…they are blessed in my opinion." _

_His lips had quirked at the corner – giving her a smirk worthy of a swoon. _

_She sighed loudly and smirked back. _

_"And you are too handsome for your own good." _

_"Handsome?" He had repeated. "You think me handsome?" _

_She undressed him with her eyes and then winked. _

_"Come in the house, get to the bedroom, and I will show you just how handsome I think you are." _

It had been a gut-wrenching carriage ride, but one that Erik had needed. There was something inside of him that had been missing for so long…so long that he almost forgot what it was like to have it.

Hope.

TBC


	47. Chapter 47 The Language of Love

I light, enjoyable chapter; I figured we were do one.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 47

She quietly watched him from the shadows of the room – this remarkable man who owned her heart and soul.

In the weeks that she had known him, Lavanya had come to realize that Erik was a very simple man….he appeared complex and intricate…but deep inside, he was simple.

All that he had required to make his life complete; to be the man he had always known he could be – was her love – given without pretext or hidden motives. After their initial faux pas…they had found each other and fallen in love - quickly.

He stood so still, silhouetted against the midnight blue of the sky, the silver sprinkles of the stars, and the glowing halo of the crescent shaped moon.

Something led him to turn his head and he marveled at the vision before him. Dressed in nothing more than a sheer gown that seemed only to enhance the perfection of her body, Erik knew that she had him completely under her control.

His body jumped to attention, as the moonlight danced over her sienna-colored skin, and flirted with the bronzed highlights in her hair.

"Sit back against the lounge chair, my love…you need your rest."

Erik cocked his head and dropped his half-lidded eyes, "There are only certain parts of me that require rest…other parts..." his smile was deliciously wicked, "…not so much."

She pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth and than raked her eyes over his semi-reclined form. He had stretched out on the lounger with his shirt open to the waist, and the glorious waves of black hair that surrounded his features were perfectly askew.

She sauntered over to him and slowly eased the hem of the gown up her legs, reveling in the heated, hungry trail of his gaze as he watched.

The gown skimmed over her hips and her hands caressed the soft insides of her exposed thighs…Erik's breathing sped up, his mouth watered in anticipation, and he gulped down the burgeoning swell of desire that spread over him.

Her fingers barely touched the heated flesh of her sex…spreading across it with a touch that Erik was certain was as soft as the petals of a rose. While her fingers on the one hand continued to gently massage her throbbing labia, her other hand stroked and kneaded her aching breast.

Somehow, without his being aware of it, she had raised one leg and placed her foot upon the arm of lounger in which he sat. His hands captured her slender ankle and he ran his tongue over the scented flesh of her foot; whispering his fingers up the back of her calf.

Her eyes closed in anticipation of his next move; aching for his fingers to take the place of hers…but he seemed content to watch her through half-lidded, passion-filled eyes.

His hot, moist tongue trailed over her knee and his lips finally touched the sensitive inside of her thigh…causing a pleasurable shiver to pass through her; she half whimpered, half moaned his name and frantically turned her erect nipple between her thumb and forefinger.

His hand wrapped around her thigh and grasped her backside, pulling her closer to him. His other hand found his engorged hardness and stroked it through the material of his pants.

She watched him stroke himself and felt her passion build even more, realizing how erotic and decadent it was to watch him do such a thing to himself; she found she wanted to see more.

"I need to taste you."

His words made her knees go week and she melted into his mouth. Energy shot through her as he playfully fluttered his tongue along the outside of her sex, giving her a feel of things to come.

"Open for me…my beautiful flower…use your fingers."

He urged her to participate by baring her inner nectar to his waiting tongue and lips; which she eagerly did…wanting him to consume her.

He feasted on her delicate flesh…laving his tongue over her with such sweet, torturous artistry that she was aware of each shooting bolt of pleasure that hardened the thrusting buds of her breasts to the point of agonizing, delectable torment.

He found her swollen nub and encased it between his beautiful lips, sucking gently on it to give her the most pleasure. Involuntary spasms bucked her hips against his mouth as her first climax of the evening sheathed her within its powerful grip.

She did not even try to hide her whimpers of pleasure…caring not if anyone heard her. As her body recovered, she noticed he had freed his enormous hard-on from his pants and was surging against his own hand in anticipation of his own climax.

She touched her hand to his and slowed his strokes, capturing his attention with her heated gaze.

Not a word was spoken as she dropped her gown back down to the floor, leaned over his lean, powerful hips and began tugging at his pants. He silently raised his backside and she pulled his pants down, careful to avoid touching his throbbing member as she did so.

Their eyes locked as he moved his legs to each side of the lounger, his feet planted firmly on the floor. She prowled up the lounger and began at the inside of his knees, skirting her tongue over his scorching flesh on her way up his body. She nipped and nibbled at him, making him moan softly and coil his fingers through her hair.

She found the tight, engorged sacks at the base of his erection and gently took them in her hand, amazed at how soft the skin was, but how tight they felt. The smell of him was intoxicating - male – virile, virulent, vibrant.

She ran her tongue over the soft surface of each sack and then coyly encased one and then the other in her mouth. Erik's head went from side to side as he quivered beneath her skilled mouth and hands.

Finally, she teased the underside of his erect flesh with the tip of her tongue, and his body arched toward her, begging for more.

The gleaming tip was red as fury and swollen to capacity, she moved her lips over the peak and tasted his heady elixir; she watched him watching her; allowing his dark, luminous eyes to linger between open and closed as she took him into her mouth; slowly, rapturously, and omnivorously.

His hands locked in her hair and he gently urged her to take him completely into her warm haven and siphon his seed from his body in this most exquisite manner.

She laved her tongue around his shaft and stroked his hardness in even, continuous rhythm until she felt his body tightening for release. She eased back and gently applied pressure to the taut sacks, cutting off the flow of his seed.

He moaned in protest, but eagerly returned the open-mouthed, heated kiss that she planted on his lips; undulating tongues and sensual, deep-throated moans filled the night air as she eased her gown up over her hips and gently impaled her weeping sex upon his raging hardness.

His hands immediately clasped onto her hips, diving further into her with every lift of his body. She moved closer to him, grinding into him as he wrapped her legs around his body and locked them behind him.

His mouth eased from hers only to take the throbbing peak of her breast into his mouth. He circled her areola with his tongue and then pulled the nipple further into his mouth…bolting her against him even more. His hands gripped her backside, pushing her against him with his strong, powerful arms.

Her head flung back as she felt her orgasm whirling through her…she stiffness and tingling in her breasts increased ten-fold, and her toes curled as it consumed her…she felt him meeting her as his strokes became longer and deeper and his breathing followed.

He burst into her with gale force, driving his seed into her womb firmly; he growled with fierce strength as she rode the winds with him until they both came down off the clouds – slowly returning to planet earth.

"I love you, Erik Lacroix…do not ever forget that."

He encased her face between his large hands and kissed her tenderly.

"How could I…for your love for me is partnered with my love for you."

Sometime later that hour, they found their way to the bed and slept soundly…both of them secure in their love of each other and waiting on what the future held.

♥♠♣♦

A week passed; Christine and Raoul dropped by, on several occasions, with the baby, the princes tried to dissuade Erik from contacting his half-sister and nephew, Sumukhi was in a family way, Erik recovered, Tarrah and Phillip became formally engaged, and Erik and Anya made love as often as they could.

It was Saturday morning, and Erik had just learned about Sumukhi's pregnancy. A raw place in his heart where the loss of D'Ombre was still painful began to heal at the prospect of having a young foal running around that carried his bloodline.

"It will be next April before the baby is born…horses carry for thirteen months." Erik had assured her earlier that morning.

They had been busy packing their bags, preparing for the long journey to Valencia, Spain. Erik had recovered to almost pre-Yves condition, and the doctor released him for travel - the doctor being Lavanya.

"I hate pulling you into this, Anya…these are issues you should not have to deal with."

Erik had thought a great deal about it, and really was not too keen on allowing the Russian aristocracy to have any access to Lavanya, at all; Erik had overheard the princes on several occasions discussing the fact that she was not of noble blood and her heritage was barbaric.

Yesterday, Erik had finally had enough…

_"Excuse me." _

_Erik approached them boldly and without care. _

_"For the past couple of weeks, you have done nothing but belittle my wife…" his eyes were narrowed and the tone of his voice was sharp and carried a dangerous edge, "…as far as I am concerned, she has more noble blood in her than any of you. She is my wife, the woman I love, and I will not tolerate any more degrading remarks, condescending stares, or whispered insults…is that understood?" _

_The older of the princes, by not nearly the most imposing, took it upon himself to speak for the rest of them. _

_"Lord Demidov, she is simply not an appropriate wife for…" _

_Erik was seething at the insolence of the mousy man. _

_"It seems you have made the mistake of thinking that I care what you – or anyone else - think." Erik snapped. "She is witty, smart, kind, generous, beautiful, and talented…far more than any of the 'noble' women I have encountered in my lifetime." _

_The little man began to speak again, but Erik silenced him with a firm clench to his lips and dark, dangerous stare. _

_"Do not question her character again – in any way – or you will find that I am still very much the Phantom." _

They had all inclined their heads, indicating to him that they would do as he asked. This morning, they had given him the tickets to Valencia – one for him and one for Lavanya; and they officially apologized to her.

Anya was all smiles as she watched Sumukhi, knowing that a foal nestled inside her. She could not understand the tears that surfaced, but she welcomed them just the same. Her emotions had been on overload this past week; and before that, her nerves, so she surmised that she had a right to be overly sensitive.

Erik walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck with his lips and hugging her to him.

"It is time to go, my love…the train will not wait for us."

They turned toward the house, hand in hand, and Erik saw the stable girl, Sonya, headed toward them. She had been doing a fantastic job at keeping the stables clean and the surrounding area, and Erik had rewarded her with a horse of her own.

The smile never left her face as she approached, giving them an awkward curtsy.

"How is your mother, Sonya?" Erik asked.

Her eyes lit up and she looked as though she was about to cry.

"Monsieur Lacroix, thanks to you, she is getting the medicine she needs and her health has improved greatly over the past week."

Erik laughed and squatted down in front of the girl so that she would have to look down at him, immediately putting her at ease.

"It is one thing to get the medicine and an altogether different thing to take it…I would say her improved health is more due to you coaxing her into taking her medicine and less from my providing it."

She smiled coyly and dropped her eyes, an action that Lavanya realized was the epitome of a girl with a crush; but of course, Erik had no idea.

"Lady Lacroix and I will be gone for a few days. I am leaving you in charge of Sumukhi. She is foaling, so you will have to make sure she has plenty of clean water and food, and do not forget to brush her in the evenings."

She smiled and nodded, assuring him that she would do her best.

Erik moved away, but thought of one final thing before leaving.

"Sonya, your mother tells me that you have never learned to read and write."

She shook her head, surprised that this wonderful man had actually carried on a conversation with her mother.

"Upon my return, we shall remedy that; either I will teach you myself, or I will hire a tutor for you. Either way, you will get an education."

She cried at that point; large, silver tears of joy – and Lavanya could not have been more proud of her husband.

"Monsieur Lacroix….do you think you could teach me to sing?"

Erik looked bewildered for a moment and then smiled; honored that she would think to ask.

"I can teach you to use the gift of singing to the best of your abilities, but I cannot teach you to sing…that is a divine gift…something you are born with."

She frowned slightly, but his next words lit her spirit.

"When I return, we shall see what needs to be done….every young girl should have the same opportunities available to her that a young boy does."

With that promise still hanging in the air and Sonya's smile forever sketched on his mind, Erik took the arm of his wife and headed for the manor…it was time to go.

TBC


	48. Chapter 48 Building A Family

One - possibly two - chapters left.

Below is a brief synopsis of what - I believe - will be my next story.

**The Walking Wounded**

_The war had taken everything from him; his honor, his dignity...his humanity. He returned to the land of his birth to live out his life in solitude - recoiling from the very people he had sacrificed everything to save. Erik Valkyrie, also known as Erik the Valiant - Warlord of Ottaviah, was only a ghost of the man he had once been. _

_No longer able to fill the position of General Warlord, his commander and king sends him home to make the best of the rest of his life. He sinks into the darkness that has filled him and thinks to never live again._

_His two younger brothers, Trey and Gage, though shocked by the change in their brother, are determined to be there for him. They invade his home, infect his life, and cause general mayhem - hoping to draw him back into the light.  
_

_It isn't until they enlist the services of a mysterious woman, that life once again comes to Valkyrie Manor._

It will be an alternate universe, Erik/Christine work of fiction.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 48

It would have been a more pleasant journey if the four horsemen of the apocalypse had not accompanied them; but there they sat, right across from them with hounding looks on their faces and dark clouds of dismay hanging over them.

Erik had made it clear, undoubtedly, that he was not interested in taking on the role of a leading member of the Russian aristocracy – no matter how sweet they tried to make it. In fact, the conversation had abruptly ended not long ago, with Erik piercing them with his eyes and biting tone.

All but one were several years older than he was, and the one that was his age seemed rather grotesquely taken with himself – in many ways. Erik disliked every one of them for different reasons, and did not care if they knew.

Anya had fallen asleep beside him, after hoping their cabin guests would splurge for a cabin of their own – but to no avail – they had made themselves at home for the ten-hour trip to Valencia; and Lavanya had given up any hope of having her husband to herself.

After a few hours of sleeping, she roused beside him, stretched her muscles, and then smiled sweetly at him. She put her hand to her abdomen and rubbed, trying to ward off the sudden wave of nausea.

"What is wrong?"

Erik touched his palm to her cheek and rubbed its softness with the pad of his thumb. He had concern in his eyes, fearing that she was becoming ill.

"I am not sure; I feel upset to my stomach…maybe I am just hungry."

Erik stood and held out his hand, beckoning her to follow him. She took it and stood, closing her eyes to the sick feeling and then walked regally beside him.

"Then I shall feed you." Erik stated, kissing her hand.

He did not care that their unwelcome companions arose to follow them; he turned to them, lifted a foreboding brow, lowered his chin with a deliberately threatening glare in his eyes, and shut the door.

They did not follow.

They were able to spend an hour or two enjoying each other's company in the dining car; the food was pleasant enough and the evening sky began to settle in, leaving a romantic glow in the car.

"What are you going to do if your nephew has no more of an interest in taking on the title and estate than you do?"

Erik circled the rim of his coffee cup with his finger, staring at nothing in particular as he considered the situation. Arrangements had been made should it come down to it. He had nothing against Russia and her noble families; he just preferred to disassociate himself with his father's sins…he had enough of his own.

"Worry not; my beloved….all is well." He assured her.

She nodded her head, trusting that he knew what he was doing and only wanting him to be happy – whatever the outcome was.

A couple of hours later, they arrived in Valencia. They booked hotel rooms for the night, and finally Erik and Anya had some alone time. Anya was truly exhausted and Erik had been watching her closely over the past few hours. She was pale and nothing seemed to be settling on her stomach…not to mention that she had to visit the water closet every couple of hours.

She seemed to hurt all over and Erik did nothing but hold her through the night. Somewhere after midnight, he drifted to sleep with her head on his chest…resting peacefully with her gentle breathing as his lullaby.

♥♣♠♦

He awoke to the sound of her being sick in the water closet, and he immediately went to tend to her. He found her curled over the commode – white as a sheet.

"Oh Erik…I do not know what is wrong with me…I feel awful."

He rubbed her back and then picked her up in his arms, carrying her to the bed.

"You just stay here today…get some rest…" he kissed her forehead, "….I will go see my sister and nephew on my own."

She shook her head vehemently, protesting his suggestion with every ounce of energy she possessed.

"We shall see…" he was trying to humor her, but he was not sure she would feel up to going out. "…I will go down and get you some bread and jam…nothing more until we know what is going on with your stomach."

She nodded her agreement and sat collapsed onto the pillow. She was determined to feel better so that she could be by Erik's side when he met his sister and nephew for the first time.

Several minutes later, Erik stood by the bed with a plate of toasted bread and some jam. She propped her eyes open and smiled at him, suddenly realizing how ravenous she was.

"Just a little at a time, Anya….no need to make things worse." She nibbled on the bread and though how wonderful it tasted. "I have located a doctor, we will stop by his office – which is just around the corner – and let him take a look at you."

She started to protest, but Erik quirked his brow and lifted his finger.

"Do it for me…I will feel better."

♦♠♥♣

The doctor, portly and pleasant, examined her with fervor, making humming sounds deep in his throat as he confirmed or disproved whatever theories he was forming.

"How long have you had these symptoms?" He asked in Spanish, a language that Erik just happened to speak fluently.

"For the last couple of days." Erik answered.

The doctor nodded and crossed his arms over his ample stomach, patting his pursed lips with a chubby finger.

He asked several more questions of a personal nature and finally smiled jubilantly.

"I have one more question for the lady, and then I will give my diagnosis." He lowered his double chin and looked at Erik over the rims of his wire spectacles. "When was her last cycle?"

Erik looked baffled for a moment, unaware of what the doctor was asking…then dawn bloomed in his eyes and he shook his head and chuckled; embarrassment washing over him like rain.

"She has not had one since we have been married; of that, I am certain." Erik assured him. "We have been married a month."

"Anya, the doctor needs to know when you last menstruated." Erik asked, turning to her when the doctor wanted a more specific answer.

"Two weeks before we were wed."

She answered quickly and then her eyes grew very large and a slow smile spread over her features.

Erik answered the doctor, totally missing the look of absolute euphoria on Anya's face.

"It is as I thought…" the doctor sighed, putting away his instruments and settling into the large chair behind his equally large desk. "…your wife is with child."

Erik did not move at first, unsure that he had heard correctly. The doctor noticed his stunned look and gave a reassuring nod of his head and a huge grin.

Erik turned to Anya and strode to her side, pulling her to him in a tender, passionate embrace…tears coursing down his cheek and the white surface of the mask.

"We are going to have a baby, are we not? That is what he said...is it not?" Anya questioned, with a radiant smile.

Erik only trembled in her arms, holding her to him desperately…afraid it would all disappear if he opened his eyes or let her go.

She cradled him in her arms, allowing her own tears to flow; finally free to accept the joy that God had granted them both.

"A baby…." Erik uttered, unable to stop the yearning in his voice, "…me…" he raised his eyes and stared into hers; a mixture of panic, delight, and elation deepening their hue to a deep, jade green, "…I am going to be a father."

Laughter filled the room, lifting the heart of a man who had once thought never to experience the blessing of a family; lifting it above the pain, the abandonment, and the loneliness.

It was not long before Erik and Anya were on their way, the doctor having given her some home remedies for warding off the nausea.

Although his first inclination was to shout the news from the mountain tops, Erik did not want the first people he shared is impending fatherhood with to be the Russian princes he had been doing his best to avoid….so he chose to rejoice within himself and smile for no apparent reason.

The carriage awaited them and they were on their way toward a small village on the outskirts of Valencia. They could find little out about a widowed ex-tavern wench with a son of about twelve years of age.

The trip was quiet; the only words spoken were winks and smiles shared between Erik and Anya; for their part, the "four horsemen" remained stiff and reserved – barely breathing - or so it seemed.

"We sent a messenger ahead of us to inform her that you were coming and your relationship to her and her son."

Erik had not been aware of this, but was grateful for it anyway. He had not wanted to come unannounced into her home and disturb her life and that of her son.

They came to a stop in front of a small house they were told to go to by the local townspeople. It was quite small, but well kept. Erik immediately noticed the landscaping and the upkeep of the house.

Erik stepped out of the carriage and turned to help Anya down, bringing her to him for a quick hug. He looked pointedly at the four princes.

"I can do this on my own; I do not need the four of you in there giving the boy a complex – or her for that matter."

"But, Monsieur Lacroix, we highly recommend that…"

"My decision is final."

With that, he shut the carriage door with a note of finality, took Anya's hand, and headed for the front door.

A smart looking woman in her mid-forties answered the door; and Erik immediately felt a note of familiarity upon seeing her. Her eyes were shaped the same as his and she had the same elegant movements in her limbs. She was highly intelligent, a fact that Erik could sense just by being in the same room with her.

"Good afternoon, Simone; I am Erik Lacroix, and this is my wife Lavanya." He sketched her and elegant bow and then lifted his eyes and smiled brightly. "It seems I am your brother."

She stared at him with skeptical eyes, but upon noticing the same similarities that he did, she moved closer to him and wrapped him in a warm embrace.

"My mother deduced long ago that I had some siblings somewhere…with father's reputation like it was…" she wiped away a tear and smiled, "…I am so thankful to finally meet you."

It was as though they had been together for years and had never been separated. Lavanya was instantly taken by her and Simone shared the same sentiment about her.

"Damien will be home shortly, he is across the way playing with one of his best friends."

"You know why we are here." Erik stated, knowing she was aware of the situation.

"Yes, but I must admit that I am quite stunned by your reluctance to take the title and estate."

Erik began the long story of his childhood, the death of his mother, his enslavement with the gypsies and in India – he left nothing unsaid. The story took a good hour – reducing Simone and Lavanya to tears - and Damien walked in toward the end of it.

He was a handsome young boy with a head of dark, wavy hair, large, engaging brown eyes, and a bright, innocence-filled smile. It was uncanny – the resemblance he had to Yves – a resemblance for which Erik was thankful.

Upon seeing Erik, Damien scrutinized every aspect him. His intelligent, sharp eyes missed nothing, but Erik could sense that he was not threatened by him, just curious.

"Damien, you are certainly a strapping young man." Erik remarked after Damien had finally finished his visual scan, relaxed, and sat down beside his mother…propped on the arm of the chair.

Simone's eyes took on a faraway look that was indicative of someone whose life had not been an easy one and who did not easily accept an unseen benefit when it appeared.

"It has not been an easy thing, knowing that my son is gifted in many things, but unable to give him what he needs to grow and build his skills."

She had not looked up, but continued in a storybook fashion – relaying facts that Erik needed to hear.

"Jorge, my husband, was a good man. We had tried for years to have a baby and finally, after ten years, our dreams came true. He was a hard working shipping merchant from a local family. He had aspirations of owning his own business – but his gambling habit weighed heavily on our finances and eventually all of our money was gone."

Her eyes drifted from Lavanya's compassionate features to Erik's concerned ones. He understood vices…probably better than any man alive did – but Jorge had been given the blessing of a family; he should have taken whatever measures were necessary to ensure they always had enough.

"I do not believe in quick remedies and instant satisfaction….I stopped believing in happy endings years ago."

Her narrowed gaze was not accusing, but held doubt and frustration. Erik gave Simone a reluctant smile and creased his forehead in thought.

"I would be willing to give everything over to him, but the aristocracy is going to demand that he be schooled in the finest schools and taught the proper ways of the nobles."

Damien sat with his head bowed; quietly reflecting on everything that was transpiring. He was an introspective young man, something Erik related to immensely.

"Damien…" Erik centered his eyes on his nephew and watched the young man's shoulders square and his chin rise in awareness, "…what do you think over all that has been said today?"

Strong, inquisitive eyes meant Erik's gaze with a fervor he was certain he had not seen in one so young. Damien looked from his mother to his uncle and listened intently to what was being said. He knew that his grandfather had been the cause of his uncle's deformity – which forced him to wear the mask. He knew that his grandfather had treated his uncle no better than most people treat their pets.

"If I take this title and the estate that my grandfather possessed…can I make a difference?"

Erik cocked his head and regarded the young man with a newfound pride and open acceptance.

"What kind of a difference do you speak of?"

He paused at that moment, thinking about what he wanted to say to clarify his desires.

"A difference in the lives of those he oppressed…can I undo or smooth out any of the damage that has been done?"

Erik looked him directly in the eye and saw only loyalty, determination, ambition, and an eagerness to make a difference.

"Damien, you can do anything you put your mind to. With the responsibility of taking on the title come the wealth, prestige, and power…things you are not yet ready to handle."

There was no argument from the boy, just a hint of overwhelming panic evident in the widening of his eyes and the biting of his bottom lip.

"They have agreed to allow us both to share the title for the time being…I am instructed to school you, refine your speech patterns, teach you Russian, French, and English, and make you into a young gentleman. When you are of age- eighteen to twenty-one – I will rescind the title; and it, and all that goes with it, will be yours."

Although Erik could sense his hesitancy, he could also see the young boy's mind spinning with the possibilities.

"Will I have to live in Russia?" Damien asked - reluctance and uncertainty in his tone.

"That is your decision. Father has an estate in France that I would be more than delighted to give you as a residence – it is fully staffed, and close to where I currently reside. It would be easy to teach you all that you must learn if you reside there."

Erik was certain the boy was eager to accept.

"Does mother get to stay with me?"

Erik felt his heart lurch at the almost hopeless sound in the boy's voice. He feared that he had to make this decision and transition without his mother by his side…and it terrified him. He loved his mother and wanted to be with her; that, Erik understood all to well.

"Of course, Damien; she will be with you every step of the way."

The next day, gathering their meager belongings and wearing bright, hopeful smiles, Simone Molinero de la Escudero and her son, Damien Escudero, boarded the train with Erik and Lavanya; eager to make a new life in France.

It was all that Erik could do not to laugh with hysterical joy over the way his life had turned out. He had a family – a wife, a baby on the way, a sister, and a nephew – and along with them, he had Tarrah, Annette, and even Christine and Raoul.

He was dangerously close to being a respectable member of society…with that thought hanging fresh in his mind, he _did_ laugh.

TBC


	49. Chapter 49 It was Worth it All

One more after this. Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and for reading.

I will be taking a little bit of time off, don't forget about me.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 49

Taking Simone and Damien back to Paris could not have been more enjoyable for Erik. They realized, after getting over the initial awkwardness, that they had a great deal in common.

She was a gifted singer; although she had never had the opportunity for training and she did not play any instruments, Erik was certain he could teach her if she desired to learn.

Damien's interests rested in architecture and design…another area in which Erik excelled. He made it clear to his nephew that having an interest in such a thing would help keep him sane when everything around him became muddled and confused.

It took a couple of weeks to get them settled into the large manor that Erik owned by default, and he promised Damien that it would all be his as soon as he was of age and proved that he could handle the responsibility.

Lavanya and Erik did not announce their pregnancy until it was certain. Erik had not even told Simone. Of course, the night that it happened, it was completely by accident...

"Tarrah, you did a marvelous job!"

Lavanya complimented her young friend.

Tarrah hugged her and thanked her, but her face lit up when Erik rounded the corner and opened his arms for her to run in to.

She eagerly embraced him, thankful that he had become far more sociable in the past few months than he had ever been.

"Magnificent, my dear…" Erik murmured into her ear, "…simply magnificent."

She did not want to let go, fearing he would disappear. He had become more like a father to her in the recent weeks and she longed for his approval and cherished his love.

Lavanya embraced her and wiped away the tears that were floating down her cheek. She lifted her eyes to see Phillip coming toward them. He stopped beside Tarrah, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her cheek.

"Did I do the final stanza correctly…I always have trouble on the last two measures?"

Erik scoffed and rolled his laughing eyes, "You were perfect, Tarrah; stop anticipating problems that do not exist."

Phillip nodded and smiled and Erik chuckled and shook his head, lifting the corner of his mouth in a devilish smirk.

"What are you nodding at, my boy…" Erik teased, "…you would not know a measure from an eighth note."

"True…" Phillip agreed, "…but I am certain that whatever you told her must be true, or you would not have said it."

Erik chuckled and shook his head again.

"I would like to treat everyone to a late dinner; La Pierre's on the Pier." Phillip announced.

Erik frowned slightly, still uneasy in public places, but Lavanya squeezed his hand and he smiled; accepting the part he must take on with reluctance, but also with an open mind.

The success of the latest Lacroix play, "Un Meurtre Plus étrange" (A Stranger Murder), was unprecedented, and Erik being reviewed by critics from just about every country in Europe. He had even heard rumors that there were critics from the America's and Asia in the audience.

Damien came bounding toward them, after mixing and mingling with the performers. He was in a new element and he was loving every minute.

"Uncle Erik…one of the chorus girls kissed me on the cheek!"

Erik suppressed the smile that tried to lift his mouth; the boy was just discovering girls and Erik thought it was delightful; of course, Simone found the whole process appalling, thinking he was too young, but Erik could not help being excited about watching the boy grow into a man.

"Did she?" Erik remarked; tousling the boy's dark curls. "You must be careful, Damien…she just may be looking for you so she can get another."

Damien grinned and leaned toward his uncle's tall form, "Do you think so?"

Erik solemnly nodded his head and covered his smile with his hand.

"I am afraid so, my boy…" Erik stated, holding back the chuckle that was lodged in his throat, "…she is probably not far behind."

Lavanya swatted him playfully on his shoulder, as Damien's eyes grew as big as saucers; Simone giggled as her son clung to her as though the shadows were chasing him.

Raoul and Christine had been standing in the background, little Loring was being unusually fussy, but they were determined to join the rest of them for dinner.

"Well Erik, it looks as though this could be your most popular work to date."

Erik shook Raoul's outstretched hand and placed a kiss upon Christine's hand. He swept the corner of the blanket away from Loring's face and gently ran his long, articulate index finger along the baby's soft cheek.

"Thank you…" Erik said, lifting his eyes to Christine.

Her questioning look made him smile.

"…for asking me to teach your son about music." He smiled down at her with a warmth she had not seen from him before. "You have no idea what it means to me."

He extended his hand to Raoul and was thankful when the younger man accepted it.

"Thank you both."

"Come Erik, we need to get to the restaurant."

Lavanya took his arm, smiled at Christine and Raoul, and led her husband out the door.

♦♥♣♠

The restaurant was virtually empty until the opera crowd piled in. The back room was filled by Phillip and Tarrah, and the group they had asked to join them.

It took a good thirty minutes for everyone to order, but they finally got it taken care of and the champagne was carried in – chilled and ready to be enjoyed.

"A toast…" Phillip stated, lifting his glass, "…to Erik Lacroix; may all of his endeavors be as successful as 'Un Meurtre Plus étrange', and may we bring as much richness and joy to your life, as you have to ours." He lifted his glass even higher, "To Erik."

Erik was stunned – needless to say – he had never had anyone do such a thing for him.

"Thank you."

Those were the only words that formed from Erik's dry mouth.

"And now…an announcement."

Phillip demanded their attention again.

"After much coaxing on my part, Tarrah Sheldon has agreed to be my wife."

Phillip said the words and looked directly at Erik, whose brow quirked in amused shock.

"However, only if Monsieur Lacroix will allow it."

Erik chuckled and shook his head, "It is too late now, boy…if I say 'no', she will never talk to me again…but as it is…." He teased, "….the love you have for each other is so evident that I could never doubt your love for her…" he stalled, glancing at the eager features of Tarrah, "…you have my blessing."

Everyone stood to clap, reveling in the happy future in store for Phillip and Tarrah. Erik blew Tarrah a kiss and turned to his wife…just in time to see her eyes roll back in her head and her collapsing body as it plummeted toward him.

"Anya!"

Erik's stunned scream alerted everyone to the problem and they all looked in time to see her fall into her husband's arms.

He caught her in his arms and lifted her easily. There was a receiving room nearby, and he carried her to it…and everyone followed.

He fanned her lightly with the newspaper sitting on the table nearby, and waited until her eyes fluttered open.

"That was the most terrifying experience of my life…do not _ever_ do that again."

She nodded, and Erik nodded once and lifted a sable brow.

"I do believe I had Mitzi lace my corset too tight…I am expanding in certain areas and must remember to make allowances."

Erik lifted her into his arms and gently lowered her to the floor; whispering his fingers through her hair to move it from her face.

The entire room had followed them, so it seemed, and Christine had been the one to hear her remark about expanding in certain areas.

"Lavanya Lacroix…have you a secret you have yet to share with us?"

She stared expectantly into Erik's vivid eyes, and he smiled with equal brilliance.

"Well, since everyone is here and after such an eventful night already…" she glanced over at Tarrah and nodded, "…I hope Tarrah will forgive us for sharing in her glory…" Anya reached up and kissed Erik lightly on the mouth, making his smile extend even longer. "…Erik and I are going to have a baby."

Screams from every woman filled the room as they all came forward to congratulate Anya and give her a hug.

"I knew it!" Tarrah exclaimed. "Christine and I were discussing the inner glow you seemed to have and the way you would absently caress her womb at various times…somehow, we knew."

Raoul and Phillip both came up and shook Erik's hand, giving him a strong pat on the shoulder and an approving wink.

Annette was the first to hug him, but her tears prevented her from forming any cohesive words; she relinquished her spot to Christine who placed a chaste kiss upon his cheek.

"Oh Erik, I knew you would have all that you deserve. You are a good man…and always have been…." She kissed his cheek one more time before pulling back and blushing slightly, "and a handsome one, too!"

He gave a short, doubting laugh, but did not recoil from the compliment…however, he did not fully accept it, either.

"Thank you." He stated, accepting his wife into his arms as she wrapped her arm around his waist.

TBC


	50. Chapter 50 It is Well With My Soul

I hope everyone enjoys the summer. I will be working on my next story, but I am unsure of when it will be posted.

God bless all of you and be safe...hug a soldier.

DARK SIDE OF THE GLASS

CHAPTER 50

He purred his way up her warm, inviting body…seemingly touching every exposed inch of her skin. She glowed in the candlelight; toffee-colored skin glistening from the drops of sweat mingled with the moist trail his tongue was leaving.

He teased one tight, rose-hued nipple with his tongue, groaning wildly when her small, but talented hand wrapped around his throbbing flesh, making the hot tip of it weep with desire.

She writhed beneath him, her ultimate goal being to join their bodies and feed the hunger that was burning deep within her womb. She tunneled her fingers through his unruly dark hair and grasped it tightly, exposing the long, hot length of his neck to her invading mouth.

She took small, delicious bites of his skin…flicking her tongue over the sensitive, tiny wounds and leaving him panting for more. She could feel his burgeoning erection grow even more massive in her hand as she pulled his ear into her mouth and sunk her teeth gently into its fleshy lobe.

Erik was undone….the power she had over him only seemed to be getting stronger with each passing day; he ached for her throughout the day – when his mind was supposed to be on composing or designing – instead, his mind was on her and the delightfully sinful things she did to him.

He once again groaned deep in his throat and ferociously devoured her other taut nipple - sucking her greedily and enjoying the bountiful nectar that poured from her.

Naturally, as had been the case earlier that day, it was at that time that a loud wail sounded from the attached room.

Erik groaned loudly this time – out of frustration – that was two times in one day; and his body was again in a state of full attention and had nowhere to go.

"He cannot be hungry again…please…." Erik pled his case; his green, luminous eyes begging for a reprieve. "does he not realize that my hunger is almost to the unbearable state?"

Anya giggled and kissed the tip of his nose.

"Now darling…you know his screams will only become louder and more forceful the longer I wait to feed him."

Erik moaned and rolled off her, trying to ignore the heated desire racing through his loins….it had been over a week since he had made love to his wife.

"What about my hunger?"

His pout was the most adorable thing she had ever seen…except when that same pout adorned the beautiful face of their son.

"Now I know where Brendan gets that pout from."

Their son had been born just over three weeks ago; an event that would forever be a vital part of Erik's memory.

He could not have played the part in this birth as he did in the birth of Loring – for his hands were sweating and his insides twisted in every direction; he was sick to his stomach and the thought of seeing his wife in pain almost caused him to faint.

Thankfully, there were no complications and the doctor was competent and well versed in the ways of childbirth.

When the nurse had placed his newborn son in his arms, Erik thought he had died and gone to heaven. Perfect…the infant was perfect in every way. There was no flawed skin, and no dark cloud hanging over his tiny, heavily curled head.

He had looked down at his wife, assuring himself that she was fine, and was greeted by her bright-eyed gaze…the only sign of her labor was the thin veil of sweat that coated her body and drenched her hair.

"He is so beautiful, Anya…just like you." Erik remembered saying, and had barely moved his eyes from the face of his son.

"And like you, my love…I see so much of you in him."

He had bent down, still clutching his son in his arms, and placed a tender kiss on her mouth.

"What is to be the name of the child?" The doctor had asked.

"Brendan Christoph Lacroix."

Anya had looked at him, making sure the name was the one he wanted; his slight nod and joyous smile had assured her that it was.

Now, three weeks later, Brendan was even more beautiful. He had begun to react to things around him. His deep, moss green eyes would open and totally captivate his father…further wrapping him around his tiny finger. Thick, chocolate-black hair covered his head and he had even smiled – putting his father in a state of euphoria.

"I must feed him and then we have to start getting ready." Anya announced , making Erik hang his head.

He followed her into the baby's room and wrapped his arms around her waist as she bent to pick Brendan up and into her arms. She turned in his arms and kissed him quickly.

She sat down in the rocking chair and opened her gown to expose her seeping breast to her son's eager mouth; savoring the motherly warmth that spread through her.

She chuckled to herself as she compared the feel of her son upon her breast to that of her husband. Erik made her ache for more, and throbbing all over with need. Brendan made her feel nurturing and motherly with the constant pull of his mouth against her.

Erik enjoyed watching her feed their son…there was something so erotic about the process; he got the strangest sensation of alpha male instincts as he watched his son nurse at the breast of his soul mate and wife.

He knelt down beside her and gently traced the contours of Brendan's face, marveling in the softness of his skin and the innocence that shined forth from him.

"Enjoy it while you can little one…" Erik whispered, "…she is all mine later tonight."

Anya smirked and looked into her husband's laughing eyes.

"After the wedding and reception…Christine has offered to keep Brendan…Loring is spending the weekend with Raoul's parents and she wants Brendan…especially since Raoul will be leaving on business right after the ceremony."

Anya narrowed her eyes and smirked at him again, she could see the need and desire burning in his eyes and knew he needed her…desperately.

"So, my conniving husband, do you intend to have your wicked way with me tonight?"

Erik lifted one side of his delectable mouth and raked her body with his heated gaze, making no mistake of his intent toward her.

"Oh yes….very wicked….all night."

♣♠♦♥

Watching the baby attempt to stand and then fall once again to the hard surface beneath him was comical to some extent, but Erik was certain it was a painful lesson to learn.

Wobbly, skinny legs – long and unskilled – tried and tried – time after time – to support the weight that they were burdened to support.

It was a beautiful thing…the beginning of a new era. If anyone had told him five years ago that he would witness just one of the events he had witnessed in the last year, he would have counted them among the lunatics and in need of hospitalization.

There had been so many things against him…but they had all fallen away – one by one; allowing him to live a normal, fulfilled, joyous life.

"He is so beautiful, Erik….so breathtaking and full of promise."

Anya stood beside him, cradling Brendan in her arms as they watched the foal attempt to stand…once again. This time, Sumukhi tenderly urged the colt with her nose…helping him shakily stand on his trembling legs.

This time, he succeeded. It was only an hour later that he was walking with greater ease around the corral; showing off his new ability and seemingly very proud of himself.

"He looks just like D'Ombre." Erik stated, a lump forming in his throat.

Anya cupped his cheek with her palm, smiling into his eyes with a love that would never die. It was a love that took every doubt he had ever had and buried them; leaving behind a man whose eyes were no longer blind to the beauty he possessed.

Finally, there was a man whose life had begun anew…moving from the dark side of the glass where no light penetrated and the flaws were carefully hidden to avoid detection, to the beauty and gentle ease provided by the stained, flawed beauty of a life filled with loved ones who were just as imperfect and bungled as he was.

"What shall we name him?" Anya asked; her eyes still riveted on the handsome foal.

Erik smiled and felt the tears gently slide down his cheeks. He looked at the miracle of his beautiful wife and son, looked at the stunning foal in front of him, and then silently closed his eyes for a moment.

When he reopened them, they were bright and full of a kaleidoscope of green-colored specks.

"The only name that fully suits him and the world he has entered…" as though the colt knew he was being addressed, his head lifted high and his warm brown eyes locked with Erik's gaze, "…L'espoir Règne."

Hope Prevails.

THE END


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